


In His Kiss

by TheOtherCourse (kanevixen)



Series: Tom and Abigail Series [14]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Henry Cavill - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Jealousy, Love, Love Triangles, Male-Female Friendship, Oral Sex, POV Female Character, Sex, Sexual Content, Shower Sex, Television
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanevixen/pseuds/TheOtherCourse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the months following the run of their working relationship, Tom Hiddleston and his costar Abigail have continued in their very private and torrid affair. Deeply in love, can shy Abby overcome her insecurities and convince him that his jealousy is rooted in more than their friends with benefits arrangement?</p><p>
  <img/>
</p><p>“Does he love me, I wanna know. How can I tell he loves me so?” - The Shoop Shoop Song (It’s in His Kiss)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A gentle caress from one naked hipbone to the other kindly pulled me from sleep’s embrace. Keeping my eyes shut, I smiled as the touch was repeated in reverse. Moaning softly, I stayed perfectly still as that hand followed the same path over and over again slowly. The curly head resting on my abdomen lifted and changed position. The skin of my torso was treated to tiny teasing kisses and tickles of the hair of his goatee.

The overtone massage of those thin lips captured my full attention, center stage. Lips morphed to teeth and then changed again to tongue. The bristles of his facial hair added just that touch of sensuality, rendering all conscious thought impossible. Indiscernible patterns of affection mapped along my skin, causing my abdomen muscles to flex involuntarily.  With my eyes closed I could concentrate on the feel, letting the slight responses within my body take over. Tiny thrills of arousal giddied my nerve-endings, driving away all remnants of sleep and clearing my mind of all but him.

The hand that had stolen me away from drowsiness continued to trip the light fantastic along my breasts, my hips and my thighs. Every caress, every touch, every pinch alighted my flesh in song. My lover was a maestro, expertly skilled in waking me in this manner and had done so on more than one occasion. The knowledge that this morning was one of those impromptu reprises gleefully added to my excitement.

I moaned again as his tongue found the cave of my belly button, a prelude to the performance, on his trip down, down, down. To encourage his descent, I buried the fingers of one hand in his silky thick red hair, his curls wrapping around my fingers like an embrace. Speaking low to avoid breaking the atmosphere, he said into my skin, “Abby.”

“Good morning, Thomas.”

His attentions began again, shifting the bulk of him from my side to between my legs. His hands guided my legs over his shoulders, one on either side of his neck, before caressing the length of my thighs along the outside. His teeth nipped that ultra-sensitive spot on the side. My pelvis bucked towards his face as a fresh wave of moisture flooded my sex, preparing me for his attentions. He laughed lightly in the back of his throat. “Are you coming back after work tonight?”

“Invite me nicely,” I demanded.

He carefully traced the line of my folds with his fingertip to tease me. My nose picked up the smell of clean linens tinted with sex when my breath hitched in my throat. I clutched his curls tighter and the sheet beneath me. “Consider this my invitation.”

I sighed, “Yes.” That was my agreement and consent to returning to his flat, but also a verbal encouragement of his promise made with that finger. My breathing became shallower, my heartbeat quickened, both sounding louder in my ears with his focus on me.

Agonizingly slow, he slipped two fingers into me, a keening noise escaping from me. He retreated and deliberately thrust his hand back into me, building the tension within me. He knew my limits in patience though. Continuing his measured and lazy thrusts of his fingers into me, his tongue gently tasted my clit. To his amusement, I bowed off the bed.

With a sexy snicker, he lilted, “So eager this morning, Abby.”

I looked down my flushed body, cocking my eyebrow at him. “Do you really think this is the time for conversation?”

He pushed his fingers within me with more strength, ripping a sob from my throat as I clenched around the intrusion. My head fell back against the soft pillows, consumed with the bloom of intense gratification. “You know how much talking I can do, my darling Abby. This may not be the best time to challenge me.”

Those fingers were doing wicked things within me, but only teasing the assurance of a happy ending. Reading my thoughts, Tom stroked my sensitive spot briefly. Breathlessly, my voice taking up a staccato, “There’s… oh! A better… ah! Use for… fuck! That mouth.” His thumb swiped over my clit without applying any pressure, keeping me on a plateau of pleasure, crafting interludes my line of speech.

“Do tell.”

“Fuck, Tom, please…” Granting me mercy, he licked me in earnest. The leitmotif of the circular motion and the pressure he applied with his tongue was the perfect medley to fire off a fanfare of sensation. The cadence of his digits into me sent me flying to the rafters. Tom’s other hand trapped my pelvis, to keep me from thrusting into the stimulation. It was a gorgeous symphony of eroticism, the combination of stabbing of his oral muscle and gentle biting with his teeth. The pitch of my curses, cries and moans of pleasure increased on a steady crescendo.

Tom, my conductor in delight, ushered me to my glorious finale. My body shuddered and twitched, as my walls constricted and released rhythmically over his fingers. He stayed at my center, bringing me back to Earth after the coda. With a careful ascent, he covered my body with his own, paying homage to every inch on the way with soft kisses or brushes of his goatee along my skin.

He had a great appreciation for the female form and spent as much time on the prologue as he did with denouement. Tom was a virtuoso and I was merely a player. The truth was in the two months that we’d been sleeping together had done nothing to quench my sexual appetite for him. Or his for me, judging from the number of nights I spent in his flat. His career path had only called him away from London a few times. Even in those rare appearances away from home, we spent time talking each other to climax. God bless cell towers, unlimited minutes and my long-shed inhibitions, those reservations that Tom exorcised through seduction.

He kissed me fully, his tongue tasted of me as he filled me with his hard length. My body accepted every inch of his impressive cock, stretching, hugging and claiming. “How long do we have?” he asked into my mouth.

I wrapped my legs around his, the hard lean muscles lined mine, and ran my fingers through his hair. He was fully encased within my vaginal walls and we paused, to enjoy how our bodies fit. I smiled serenely up at him, “Not long. I have to get to work.”

His pelvis retreated from me slowly, savoring the torturously beautiful sensations our bodies created together. As he pushed back into me, after nearly leaving the sanctuary of my channel, he hissed with the feel of it. “Would you like to come again, Abby?”

“If it’s not too much trouble…”

Pulling back slowly once more and rocking back into me, he rasped his sex-laden voice, “Short on time, and demanding another orgasm… Are you using me for what I can give you?”

His hand skimmed down my side, intensifying each stroke within me. He hiked my thigh up around his waist, grinding my clitoris with his pelvic bone. Bowing into him with the added pressure, I moaned with him. With effort, I managed to say, “This rendezvous was your idea this morning.”

The gait of his thrusts increased as did our mingled shared breath. I clawed my nails down his back, leaving pink lines as evidence of our meeting. When he spoke again, his voice broke with the strain to maintain our conversation. “A distinctive convincing argument to make you agree to come back tonight for more of this.”

I leaned up and bit his neck. “Enough talking. Just fuck me.”

He growled ferociously as his hips slammed into me. The slap of skin sounded with our joining, followed by our mutual cry of ecstasy. Propping himself up on his hands, he shoved in and withdrew in my heat at a fiercely passionate pace. Skin upon skin, he swiftly brought us to a loud, sweaty and stunning end together. My lover collapsed on top of me, allowing my inner walls cinch tightly around his member in rhythmic release.

Untangling from Tom, I got up and made my way into the bathroom to shower. When I emerged from the bedroom, clean and ready for work, he’d brewed coffee and toasted bread for me and himself. He was impossibly adorable, dressed in a red pair of boxer-briefs and a gorgeous smile.

“Do you actually act anymore? Or do the fangirls just send you checks directly for being gorgeous?”

He smirked. “I start Henry next week.”

I reached up and gently pulled at the facial hair on his chin. “I fancy Henry a lot.” I stood on my tippy toes to place a small kiss on his lips, tasting the bitter black coffee on his breath. “Thanks for coffee. I’ve got to get to the studio. I can’t stay late tonight. I have an audition in the morning before work.”

He swallowed down half his mug of coffee in one go. I watched his Adam’s apple slide along the column of his neck with fascination. He really was too perfect for words. With innuendo dripping off his every word, he said, “I’m quite capable of getting you into bed very early in the evening actually.”

“Very true, but your antics keep me awake most of the night.”

Stepping into the circle of my arms, he dipped his head into my neck, speaking into the sensitive skin there. “You’ve never complained about my antics.”

Knowing I shouldn’t encourage him as he’d already monopolized most of my morning, I found it nearly impossible when he was nipping my neck. Playfully I swatted him away as I turned back to the stove, his kitchen entirely too small for the both of us. I shoved a piece of dry toast no butter in my mouth and washed in down with coffee, lots of milk and three sugars. Tom prepared the quick breakfast for me, according to my preferences when I was short on time and he was responsible.

He stepped into me, affectionately attacking the other side of my neck. “What are you auditioning for tomorrow?”

“The Glass Menagerie.”

“Repressed and oppressed Laura? I thought I cured your repression.”

I giggled with the tickle of his facial hair on my neck. “That’s why it’s called acting. I believe you’re familiar with the practice.”

After finishing my two pieces of toast, I turned to face him. He examined me closely, running his hands over my hair. “You can portray that character well, you’ve got the look. Big innocent blue eyes.”

“Knowing you as I do, Tom, I thought you would be offering with the physical crippling part that’s expected of Laura. I know for a fact that you can affect the way I walk temporarily.”

He moaned. “Then I must prepare you for the audition properly.”


	2. Chapter 2

True to his word, Tom got me into bed naked and early in the evening to make my start the next day easier for me. We were seated on his bed, me between his legs, free of clothes and free of cares. He helped eased the tension knots from my shoulders created by my deplorable, yet incredibly powerful producer and current boss Dennis. The man resembled Danny Devito only larger and gave me the impression that he thought I was sixteen, in braces, with weekly bouts of acne. This was cause for alarm since he was currently trying to get me to agree to sleep him. I suspected that his attraction to me wasn’t so much about me, as it was for my lady parts and not mine in particular, just the fact that I had them.

Tom listened almost attentively as I unloaded the conversation I’d had with Dennis. Those long lean fingers massaged my shoulders, melting away the stress of a conversation from hours earlier. Those hands were magic and witchcraft and everything inherently Tom. His lips worked along my shoulder blades and spine just below my hair line, soaking up any ill will I carried. He seemed more concerned with the making me forget than to actively listen to my diatribe.

I was currently working on a sitcom for BBC Two, and for the most part, I enjoyed it. A constant source of income since the play that I’d done with Tom ended and it provided me the flexibility to actively look for something else, something better. The cast of actors and actresses were top notch, and I was welcomed week in and week out as a recurring character. The only downside was executive producer Dennis and his inappropriateness, not only to me but to all the actresses on set. As a professional, I wanted to come in, do my scenes and go back home or back to Tom without being made to feel like a piece of meat.

Trying to suppress my primal, natural responses to Tom’s touch, I related the tale of young actress versus powerful, influential producer. “When I walked into the studio, he was right there, as if he was waiting for me. A lascivious and altogether disgusting wink and bite of his lower lip accompanied his leer at me.” In my best Dennis impression, I repeated, “’Abby-girl, what’s shakin’, princess?’ And he gave me the once over about four times.”

I moaned as Tom worked the muscles in my neck, rubbing gently with those talented fingers. He kissed lightly along the shoulder abandoned by his hand to my neck. The blazing trail of lust was difficult to ignore, but his voice broke the haze. Mimicking my Dennis tone, he asked, “What did you do, Abby-girl?”

“Arse, you’re barely listening.”

He bit my collarbone to dispute me. “I heard the Abby-girl bit.”

I continued, ignoring his quip and his renewed interest in distraction, “As creepy and uncomfortable as he makes me, I smiled prettily for him. He sways casting decisions and I need this gig. I attempted to replace my repulsion with sweetness and greeted him the only way I could. ‘Morning, handsome.’ But I doubt my acting extends that far.”

Pulling me closer into him, foregoing the massage for more contact. His hands, those warm hands, caressed along the outside line of my legs. I could feel him stiffen against me, behind me. I’m not even sure why I was telling him all of this, he couldn’t fix it. He didn’t seem interested in it. He purred into my cheek, “I’m convinced.”

My relationship with Tom was the Facebook definition of complicated in the simplest possible way. There was affection between us, but it was completely unspoken, unacknowledged. All unarticulated and implied feelings were explored physically. I suspected my affection for him ran far deeper than his for me, and for that I remained silent. We were comfortable and convenient, easy and simple.

Tom was coming off the busiest year of his career, and heading into what might prove to be another.  I knew he liked my companionship, and I swallowed my emotions to keep his life breezy. Staying as we were ensured I didn’t lose him to someone else, and face that heartache.

He wrapped his long arms around my middle, his mouth against my ear lulling me back into his cloud of seduction. Fighting the good fight of discussing my plight, I described my situation further, “He invited me down to the pub after work one night, placing him firmly in ick territory. I’m sure he still considers me an underage teenager.”

Tom possessively took my breasts in his hands, squeezing the flesh gently. His voice was low and dripped with eroticism. “What night should I not expect you then?”

I sighed as his fingers mildly pinched my nipples. I squirmed against him, earning a beautiful response from his lower body. “Bloody wanker, all of them with that attitude.”

He laughed in that hushed way, pressing his erection into my back. He urged me convincingly, “No more talking now. He can’t have you. Full stop.”

With some effort, I turned around in his arms and straddled his hips. Tom kept his hands on my hips the entire time, unwilling to separate from me. I hovered above him, my knees holding me up above him. I ran my fingers through his full head of hair. The dark read curls fascinated me no end and I adored tugging on them. He tipped his head back to look up at me.

With my fingertips of both hands, I traced the lines of his face and he let me. I started at his strong, prominent forehead, followed by soft kisses. I followed by caressing down his long, straight nose and kissed the tip. As I cupped his sharp cheekbones, I ran my thumb along his thin lips. The bristles of his goatee scrapped my palm slightly. His hands followed along my curves from the top of my back to the thighs, and running up again.

“One question before we…” I trailed off unable to put into words what was about to happen. Somehow an atmosphere of intimacy had ensnared us and shagging or fucking felt wrong. Wordlessly, Tom nodded, his blue eyes watching me closely. “That first time we were together in my dressing room, you had a condom on you. Was that meant for me specifically?”

“Solely for you, Abigail. I wanted you.” He sucked the tip of my thumb into his mouth and released it again quickly. I believed him beyond a shadow of a doubt. I leaned down into him, laying my lips on his. I paused and let that be, just to be in that moment. After that small instant of connection, I angled my mouth to his for a proper kiss. I initiated by licking his lower lip, seeking the wet warmth of his mouth, his tongue. The immediate need for closeness fueling the growing entanglement between us.

Crushing me to him, he met my kiss with as much fervor and hunger as I fed into him. We remained fused together in a passionate meld, inextricably tangled together, for a long stretch of time. With his mouth on mine, he provoked the natural ache of desire that he always could. Pulling away from him slightly, I let the air crackle with knowing. Eyes met eyes, understanding and silent affection.

I ran a hand down the side of his face, down the column of his neck. I continued the line down his lean, muscular solid wall of skin down to the light dusting of hair that trailed below his belly button. Grasping his length in my fist, I lined him with my entrance. I sank down, taking his length into me completely, our eyes never leaving each other. We both exhaled at the relief and excitement at our joining.

Anchoring his hands to my hips, I rocked my waist slowly into and away from him, like the current and waves along the shore. The intensity of his ocean blue eyes caused a tremor through me as he swelled within me. I was adrift in a sea of heightened sensation and awareness of him. My breath came in short pants as swell of pleasure bloomed.

Tom jerked his groin up into me at random when the sensitivity nearly consumed him. As we climbed together, I pressed my forehead into his, closing my eyes to focus on the tsunami of our movements, how good it felt. I murmured, “Make me come, Tom.”

“God, Abby, so tight,” he groaned. Our frenzied movements increased in tandem to reach the ultimate rapture. The calm before the storm stole my breath in a gasp, my head thrown back in ecstasy. My inner walls pulsated and constricted around him as I fell into the abyss of my orgasm.

Tom watched me closely, his hands gripped my waist like a vice, slamming me down onto his lap repeatedly. He grunted audibly into my breasts, before heaving, “Oh, God, Abby…” His cock twitched and spilled into me as his climax claimed him. I clutched him to me, as we breathed heavily into each other.

A few minutes later after holding each other and catching our breath, his length still tucked within me, Tom smirked up at me. “Did I make your bad day excellent?”

I rolled my eyes at the man as I climbed off his lap. “Check your ego, Hiddleston.” I started to get up from the bed and Tom pulled me back in. I squealed loudly at the unexpected action. “TOM!”

He got on top of me, successfully immobilizing me. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Why?”

“I told you, I have an audition in the morning. Very early, need to sleep.” I tried pushing him off me, but his large frame dwarfed mine. My attempts were futile and wasted.

Nuzzling my neck, he kept me pinned beneath him. “You can leave from here in the morning. I can help you prepare.”

“Tom, I have to go. You don’t let me sleep.”

“If I promise to behave, and you know, actually behave, will you stay?”

************

Tom kept to his word, and kept his hands and other body parts to himself to let me catch my beauty sleep. It was better for me that I slept curled into his side with his steady heartbeat as my pillow. If I was honest, I was comfortable with him, and had grown accustomed to sleeping with him. I probably wouldn’t be able to sleep alone anymore, as evidenced by those random nights away that he had.

In the morning, he sent me off to my audition with a coffee, a muffin, and a kiss. “Good luck and break legs. You’ll be fantastic. Will I see you later?”

“Do you want to see me later?”

“All of you actually,” he implied, seduction laden in every word.

Laughing, I shook my head at him as I opened the door to leave. “Such a charmer.” I kissed him quickly and scurried towards the tube.

I arrived a semi-cattle call audition ten minutes before I was meant to be there. There must have been 200 people crammed into a tiny black box theatre. The director, producer and stage manager were seated in the middle of the house, organizing headshots and reviewing the schedule. The stage manager announced that casting would be based on type, to limit the amount of actors and actresses they would see.

With only four characters to cast, the cut left about 60 people milling around the cramped, overly heated space. Actors are incredibly a strange breed of people, even I thought so. Noises and stretches never heard or experienced in civilization came out during auditions and warm-ups to performances. Trills, scales, breathing exercises, yoga chants, and jumping jacks filled the house and green room. I sat in the back row of the theatre reviewing my monologue once more.

A very good looking Jim-typed-in actor sat beside me. He was six foot five, broad, with big blue eyes and big bushy black hair. “I think it’s safe to assume you’re here to audition for Jim as well, yes?”

I giggled at his joke and nodded. “Naturally. Did the rugby physique give it away?”

“Cutest rugby player I’ve ever seen.” He offered his hand to shake. “Henry. You are?”

I shook his hand briefly, “Abigail.”

“So you’re my competition.”

“I think you may have this one in the bag. I might have been typed into the wrong part.”

Henry and I spent most of the morning, passing the time, waiting for our audition and talking. I knew he was chatting me up and flirting with me, but he had a certain charm about him. Henry was outgoing, funny, brash, and not nearly as educated as Tom.

As the production team were transitioning from auditions for Amanda to Laura, I stood up to take my place backstage with all the other actresses there for Laura. Henry asked, “Can get your mobile number?”

“Number 22,” the stage manager called to the house at large.

I looked down at Henry as I stepped over him, I was number 24. “Why?”

“I’d like to ask you out.”


	3. Chapter 3

Intense exhaustion seeped into my pores, my bones… even my teeth were tired. My scalp burned with the effort of staying on my feet, holding my head up, maintaining the weight of my thick shoulder length hair. I bee-lined my way from the tube station to Tom’s flat, the frigid November air beating into my core. Turning onto the quiet, dark side street that Tom lived on, my feet shuffled along the concrete sidewalk, beyond the energy to lift my black flats. The scuffling noises bouncing around in the crisp night, from one brick faced row of houses to the one opposite in a fading loop.

Using the last of my reserves in stamina, I pushed the heavy hardwood door open and let myself into my lover’s flat. I shivered violently, the fatigue weakening my defenses against the cold. Flipping the lock in place and shimmying out of my overcoat, I heard Tom call to me from the living room. “Abby?” My voice vacated me hours ago from overuse, sometime between rehearsal, and shooting after my Laura callback audition this morning. I was done in, weary, and shattered. “In here, darling.”

Dragging my sorry arse towards the sound of his voice, I kicked off my shoes haphazardly in the hallway and stumbled into the living room. Tom, a welcome sight for my eyes, was propped up on the sofa, feet kicked up on the oversized ottoman in the center of the room. The 65 inch flat screen displayed one of those dreadfully long and boring indie foreign films that he loved watching, the volume cranked to more than necessary. I kissed him briefly as I collapsed on the stiff cushions of the sofa. I landed across his lap dramatically, arm thrown over my eyes in genuine Scarlett O’Hara fashion.

I croaked around my abused vocal chords in my best Southern Belle drawl, “Stars and bars, I believe I have the vapors.”

He laughed, rubbing the crown of my head, “Oh, darling, you look like you’ve seen better days. I much prefer you without the dark circles under your eyes.”

I whined, my voice breathy, “I’m shattered.”

“It’s gone ten, did you need dinner?” I shook my head. I hadn’t eaten since lunch but the need for sleep consumed me completely. He peeled my arm away from my face to look at me. “The movies almost over. I’ll take you to bed when it’s done,” he said sympathetically.

As beautiful as that sounded, I no longer had command of my limbs. I rolled towards the telly to watch the end of the film with Tom, but quickly drifted off. The soothing caresses of Tom’s hands on my head and cold arm lulled me right off. I had wanted to stay awake to be with him since we hadn’t seen much of each other in a fortnight. When I became aware of my surroundings again, Tom was trying to rouse me from sleep. The television was darkened and the side lamp turned off. He helped me to his bedroom and out of my clothes. He stripped down and joined me in his king sized bed.

Trembling with the cold that sunk into my being, Tom pulled me to him and tucked the duvet around me tightly. He was the perfect heater, his body radiating heat at all times. He was my oversized hot water bottle for the cold winter nights. As I curled into him, he tucked the ice blocks at the bottom of my legs that I used to call feet between his legs to thaw them.

We were in the same position when the alarm sounded too early in the morning. Tom groaned in protest as I rolled over to turn it off, untangling myself from the man and the duvet. Guilt seeped into my consciousness because he didn’t need to be awake this early, only me. He asked me to spend the night, presumably for sex, and I’d fallen asleep on him.

The casting people for The Glass Menagerie were having a go at me and two other females for the role of Laura. I was having to jump whenever they asked me to be there. For the past two weeks, I juggled my work schedule and four different callbacks and three different readings, all the while trying to see Tom whenever possible. Tom started the Hollow Crown six days before, leaving very little time for our trysts. I missed his smile, his face, his touch, his smell; I missed him. It was quite a shock after spending nearly every night for two months together. The fact that he didn’t seem bothered gnawed at me, because I wasn’t prepared for this _thing_  we shared to be over.

Sitting up and stretching dramatically, I glanced at the sleepy man. His eyes were closed, his breathing even, everything about him appearing relaxed. Lying back down with my head on his chest, I traced a fingertip through the small patch of hair in the center. He didn’t move to hold me, and I wondered briefly if he’d drifted back off into dreamland or if there was something deeper stirring. I softly kissed the skin beneath my head to try to get his attention. I murmured in an attempt to assuage my guilt over last night and everything else, “I’m so sorry.”

Without opening his eyes, Tom moaned and asked, “Whatever for?”

“My crazy schedule, your insane schedule. Last night, my comatose state. This morning, the alarm before humans should be awake.” I ran my hand across his chest, to feel the texture of his skin to touch his nipples, to relearn his muscles and bones, trying to convey that’d I missed him. I needed him to make a move to hold me or something, the emotional distance resembled an unbearable chasm. I was about to attempt to hurtle myself across, secure in the knowledge that I couldn’t reach the other side.

He remained unmoving, eyes shut against the muted daylight hours. “I do prefer to have sex with someone slightly more responsive.”

I cringed inwardly, dreading that he was going to chuck me off for someone a little more available. I caressed down the center of his chest, stopping at his waist before retracing the hollow ridge of his trunk. “I’m so sorry,” I repeated, unsure what else to say.

I slid my hand back to dip below the duvet slung across his lower half. I wrapped my palm around his semi stiff flesh between his legs. A swift audible inhale of breath through his nose was my reward. Gently I tugged and squeezed the length of him to provoke and coax him to full attention. Reluctantly, he gritted through clenched teeth, “Abby- oh, Jesus-” His pelvis jerked off the bed into my ministrations. “Work, yes?” My hand tenderly stroked the satiny soft skin over his engorged cock. “Fuck, Abby…”

“I might have a little time.” Lifting myself up without ceasing my movements on him, I straddled his legs. His vocalizations ignited the fire of need within me, my center heavy with desire. He finally opened his eyes, the blue irises unfocused with lust. I leaned over him, sensually brushing my breasts along the length of his abdomen. I claimed his lips, purring into his mouth, as my tongue sought and probed for his. I plundered the depth, rubbing and massaging every part of his mouth. His goatee scrapped along my skin, but I didn’t care.  Abruptly I ended the kiss as his groin twitched within my hand seeking more attention.

Tom met and locked my gaze. His voice rough with craving, “Abby, you must finish what you’ve started.”

“That’s the plan.”

I aligned him with my entrance, and sunk down on him. And as much as I didn’t want to admit it and struggled with the very nature of our relationship, I felt complete, whole, home. I wanted to rewind the clock some and relive the time that Tom clung to me, wanted to see me, and wanted to be with me. It’s not that he didn’t want to but the yearning had lessened some, but not for me. The pace slowed considerably and I didn’t like how much that bothered me.

Although I was meant to be getting ready to get to work, I didn’t care. Renewing that physical connection was more important than any other commitment, personal, professional or otherwise. Without actual words, as so often before, I used my body to communicate that. The act was purely physically for him and purely emotional for me.

When I kissed him again, he finally wrapped his long arms around me and my world was right again. He rolled us over so he was on top of me, and he took control. He whispered into my lips, “God, I’ve missed this.”

His mouth claimed mine again in a carnal, heated dance that matched our movements. The gait of his thrusts were languid to appreciate what we had been without in the time away. Every push and pull, pull and push served to secure my feelings for him. Our mutual orgasm overcame us swiftly, skin damp from exertion, pulse quickened, breath rushed, bodies so entangled. My heart on my sleeve and beat just for him.

Tom landed a small brush of his lips on my cheek as he got up from the bed. “As much as I’d like to keep you here all day, we both need to work. I’ll make coffee.” My limbs were trembling as I stumbled into a hot shower. I tried to make up some of my lost time in the shower by speeding through my morning rituals. Turning off the steady stream of water, Tom joined me in the bathroom. Stepping out, he handed me a white oversized bath sheet to dry off. “So I have to go to New York next week,” he launched into a conversation as though he started it in his head first.

“Exciting!” I wrapped the terrycloth around me, hiding the small bubble of panic that inflated in my stomach. The mounting time away from each other was taking the shine off our new toy, so to speak. I already felt the distance.

“Have you ever been?” He leaned in the doorway clad in only boxer briefs, watching me.

“To New York?” He nodded, meeting my eyes in the mirror as I squeezed Colgate onto my travel toothbrush. “Never been to America. Never been outside England actually.” My background was not as privileged as his. Coming from a tiny town on the east coast called Great Yarmouth in Norfolk County didn’t allow the same opportunities as growing up in the metropolis of London. My late father was a transportation worker, driving a commuter bus from Great Yarmouth to Norwich everyday three times a day for 40 years. My late mother, bless her soul, was a stay at home mum who taught me sewing, cooking, cleaning, and do it yourself, all that didn’t stick. When my parents passed within a year of each other, which gave me the impetus to move to London and chase my dramatic outlet.

Shoving my toothbrush into my mouth, Tom stepped behind me to watch the reflection of my reaction. “I’d like you to go with me.” I chocked at the unexpected statement. His face alighted with a grin at my surprise. His hands snaked around me waist, the strong line of his body encompassing me. “Just think of it… three days in bed, shagging mercilessly in Times Square, high above the all those people, your screams drowning out the noise. While I deal with my work commitments for War Horse, you could take in a Broadway show.”

The gravity of his plan for me stung and hit hard. He wasn’t inviting me as a date, someone to walk the red carpet with him. I was nothing more than a warm body to provide him sex when he craved it. The compliment quickly turned ugly and the gaping hollow within my chest ached from the emptiness. Somehow he’d stolen my heart and he didn’t know it. I ordered myself to breathe, to not let him see the pain he’d inflicted on me.

I spit out a mouthful of toothpaste, rinsed it with a swirl of tap water, and leaned back up against him. I quickly ticked off all the reasons I couldn’t go with him, wanting nothing more than to go. I wouldn’t allow myself to agree to this long weekend away with him because I felt I was worth more than a traveling vagina. He wasn’t considering my life, my work, my responsibilities or my budget. There was no way I could afford to pay for a ticket to New York at the last minute. However, the desire to spend additional time with him to prove that we could be more than friends was undeniable. Speaking into the mirror, I said, “I have to work. Evil Dennis would never let me out.”

“It’s only a long weekend, Abby.”

“Tom, this is so last minute. I don’t think they can rearrange the shooting schedule.” I turned around in his arms, curling my arms behind his neck. “These casting people are still playing at casting me as Laura. I have to be available for them.”

“I find it hard to believe that you can’t take a few days.” There was an edge to his voice that I didn’t want to acknowledge.

Tempering the tension creeping into our dynamic, I said, “Thank you for inviting me, Tom. Really… but this isn’t the right time. I’d like to get away, but for the sake of my career, I need to stay.”

He pressed his forehead to mine, his jaw shifting with distaste. He pinched my ass and pulling me closer to him. “Fuck, I know you’re right, irritatingly so. I don’t like being without you.”

I touched the side of his face, communicating that there was more going on between us than he was aware of. “Let me chuck off this Dennis job and find something better. The next weekend is yours.”


	4. Chapter 4

Deeply inhaling the strong earthy, bitter smell of roasted coffee beans, I greedily wrapped my numb fingers around the stiff cardboard cup. December London weather dropped significantly in the past few days, and I could feel the threat of impending snow in my muscles. I took sanctuary from the gloomy and frigid day with a steaming hot Caramel Macchiato, a thoroughly handsome, flirty friend and a conciliatory shared blueberry muffin.

I didn’t know how long my punishment from a certain Tom Hiddleston would last, so I did the only thing I could – wait. In every way possible, I had spent every waking and sleeping moment with him before his trip to New York City for the War Horse premiere. I welcomed him into my bed and my heart time and time again, only to be left feeling hollow. His flight back from the Big Apple was four days ago, four excruciatingly slow and dragged out days. I was still waiting for a phone call or text asking for my company, fearing one might never come.

All the intense waiting and worrying was having a demoralizing negative effect on my confidence. The coveted role of Laura in the Glass Menagerie was bestowed upon another actress two days ago and I was left with creepy Dennis and a handful of auditions in my foreseeable future. I smiled widely for my companion, but I could feel the forced nature of it, confident that he could see beyond the show of teeth.

Henry was wrung out and shown the sidewalk with a canned ‘We’ve gone in another direction’ for the role of Jim as well. Cursing our luck and belief in our lack of talent that rejection always brought, we sat together for a chat. Shaking his head at me, Henry said, “You are a master deflector, Abby. How do you do that?”

“What did I deflect?” I shoved a small piece of muffin into my mouth and chewed slowly. I wasn’t shocked that someone picked up on how secret I kept my personal life. Henry and I passed the time together at these auditions. This was our first opportunity to complain since we’d both lost out working on The Glass Menagerie.

“Every time I ask you for a proper date, you get me talking about locomotives, or sea urchins, or blackcurrant jam. Frankly, I’m surprised you agreed to coffee with me for a third time.”

I shrugged playfully. “It’s cold and I like coffee.”

He laughed at my joke. “So this,” he gestured between the two of us. “Not even about me then.”

“Where did we land on jam? Which do you prefer: Hartley’s or Sainbury’s?” I was guilty of changing the subject, but I wasn’t sure how to handle turning him down every time we met for coffee. Instead of a flat out rejection because I was hung up and sleeping with someone else, I’d chosen avoidance of that particular subject.

“Hartley’s… but we’re not talking about the consistency of it again.” He smiled and pointed at me with the wooden stirrer. “There’s something you’re dodging.”

Embarrassed, I stared into the murky colored foam of my drink, trying to figure out what I could say. Hesitating for more time, I scooped another piece of the pastry between us into my mouth. Why couldn’t I fall for a man like Henry who was genuinely interested in me and asked for the opportunity of my company? He was a nice man, one that actually liked me and told me so. My heart went the wrong way, and turning my back on Tom – I just couldn’t. I glanced up into the strong features of Henry before looking down again. “It’s complicated.”

Henry reached across the small divide between us, and touched my wrist gently. “You’ve said. It doesn’t have to be. I like you, Abby, despite all your ducking.” His eyes softened as he watched me and pulled away from me again.

I checked my mobile display discreetly once more, hoping, wishing, wanting to see a text, email or missed call from Tom. Nothing. I reminded myself again that this was day four since Tom had returned and I felt every minute of that time. Over a week since I’d seen him or talked to him, the withdrawal keenly affecting my self-esteem. He, in the short time I’d known him, boosted the faith I had in myself, given voice to my fears and reservations. Because I was so alone in this world, I was disposed to disappearing into my head. Without Tom, the introvert that I am was beginning to reappear.

Surprising myself, I asked shyly, “Really? You like me?”

“You’re magnificent, Abby. I’ve asked you out seven times. How many times do I have to ask before you believe it?”

“Eight?” I coyly hinted.

Perhaps I was being foolish drafting poor unsuspecting Henry into the whirlwind of my emotional hurricane. Henry was decent and honorable, deserving a woman completely devoted to him, not someone infatuated with someone else. My conflicting thought was that I deserved a man willing to be seen in public with me. I agreed to see him on Sunday night after his shift as a server at a local pub.

With the loop of callbacks for one job behind me, I threw myself back at the mercy of Dennis. I freed my schedule at the BBC so that I could shoot whenever they needed me. I was hoping they would increase my storyline, enhancing my screen time. I reported to the studio early Saturday for a half day of shoots.

When I checked my phone on the way out of the building, Tom magically reappeared. A text was waiting for my response, a silent but deadly landmine of emotional trauma, a booby trap.

‘Come by my place?’

No words of affection. No personal touches. A command rolled in a question.

In five words or less, this man could send me into a tailspin. In true Tom fashion, his timing was impeccable. I was preparing to move on and he reappeared to reclaim my heart as his. Taking control and owning my decision to leave him behind me, I didn’t answer his text. Instead I took the tube to his flat, determined to give him a piece of my mind, tell him that this arrangement didn’t work for me, and I didn’t want to see him anymore.

This was my perfect plan.

Like a battle in my head, the sensible, intelligent plan fought for supremacy over the emotional, pining heart. The burning instinct to run into his arms and stay there dying hard against the smart road of leaving the memory of him behind me.

Against habit, I knocked on the door when I arrived, instead of walking through as I’d done a fortnight ago. My anger and hurt over his treatment of me didn’t leave room for nervousness. I hated that he felt that I needed punishment for not going to New York City with him. I hated that he didn’t contact me to let me know that he was back and safe. I hated that I was disposable to him. Most of all, I hated that I didn’t mean as much to him as he meant to me.

He texted and I went to him, the fact enraged me. I clenched my fists and waited for him to answer my knock. He opened the door and I was a deer caught in the headlights of his gaze.

Before I could make a move, take the reins of my fate, I was drawn into his arms. One hand behind my neck, one hand at my hip, and his lips on mine. Rough, demanding, determined lips settled on mine before I could say anything. A surprise squeak sounded from the back of my throat, as I melted into his embrace. The soft sensitive skin of my face abused by his facial hair, and oh God, I welcomed it. His fingers persistently gripped the back of my neck, pulling me further into him. His other arm wrapped around my waist, his tall frame arching down to meet me, his body pressed impossibly into mine.

Bodily he lifted me off my feet, his mouth fused to mine, and closed the door behind me. In no time, I was pushed against it. I almost had the gumption and self-control to push him away until his mouth was on mine - until he opened the door. I was defenseless, I couldn’t fight my customary response to him, my Tom. My hands found purchase on his wide shoulders, the cotton covered muscles rippling under the pads of my fingers. The hand at my neck dropped and moved to my front. He pressed a sure steadfast grip against my center. I gasped loudly, throwing my head back against the wood of the door.

Hiding his face at the curve of my neck, he growled, “Abigail.” In preparation, he laved a spot to sink his teeth into. As his fingers teased and goaded me down below, he sucked the sensitive skin, marking me, showing me his claim over me. Drowning in my feelings and lust for this man, I encouraged the branding of my skin, angling my head and clasping his head to my neck.

Possessively Tom moved that hand from my center to touch me directly. He slipped one finger between the lips of my moist swollen sex. Involuntarily my hips ground into the brush of contact, seeking more. As he played, his tongue licked along his mark on my skin, worshiping it. He slipped another finger into me as I become one with the door keeping me on my feet. “So wet, Abby… so wet, so tight,” he murmured into my mouth before sliding his tongue in.

He took his hand away from me to unbuckle and unzip his trousers. In record time, he relieved both of us of every scrap of clothing in his doorway. He picked me up, face to face, eyes locked on eyes, and I clasped my legs around his waist. He carried me to his bedroom, exchanging small random kisses along the way, our eyes bonded to each other.

In his room, he lowered and placed me on the bed gingerly. He bent over me, his feet rooted to the floor, his elbows on the mattress by my shoulders. With a small peck, he positioned his cock at my entrance and easily slid into me. Fully encased within me, we remained unmoving. I never wanted to forget that moment, both of us laid bare, vulnerable and open to each other.

He whispered, “Watch, Abigail. Watch how we fit, darling.”

We both looked between us where our bodies were joined. Tom eased back, pulling almost all the way out of me, before slowly sinking back in. The most erotic, intimate, and true moments of my life was watching our bodies as they were meant to be. Mirrors were one thing, experiencing it visually was quite another. I watched longer than Tom as his fingers eased my chin up for another passionate kiss.

From the time apart and the intense companionship of those instances together, we came apart together in a blink of an eye. In rapture, I believed that I found my peace, my spot of heaven on Earth. I wanted to laugh and cry, but I was too consumed by the moment to do anything but be with him.

We remained tangled around each other, in comfortable silence until his mobile rang in the other room. He kissed me briefly and padded into the other room completely naked. I assumed that I was staying the night and started to find my spot under the covers. I could hear Tom chatting into his mobile in the living room.

“Hey,” followed by his signature laugh. “Yeah?” Pause. “Oh, excellent…” Longer pause. “No, no, it’s amazing! What do you have for me?” Pause. “When is it?” Pause. “How much? Where?” Longer pause. “No, no. I’m not busy. Yeah, send it over, I’ll look it over in few minutes.” He laughed again. “I can do that. Remind me though please.”

And there it was again! I cursed everything and everybody as I hoisted myself from the bed. I was about to be dismissed again. This man had the power to make the feel the highest high and the lowest low within a matter of minutes. I gave that power to him willingly every time. When was this ever going to be about me?

Like a whirlwind motivated by bitterness, I tore out of Tom’s bedroom into his hallway to find my clothes. As I was angrily shoving my limbs back into the material of my clothes, Tom asked, “Where are you going, Abby?”

I forced myself not to look at him, afraid that if I did, I would reveal too much. “Back to my flat.”

“I thought you might stay for the evening.” He tried to reach out and touch my arm but I stepped away swiftly. “We can spend all night in bed.”

“Not interested in that.” I shrugged into my bra and hooked it in the back.

“Abby, what’s happened? Why are you angry with me?”

I scoffed, venom running through my bloodstream. I really had to get out of there before the tears of frustration and pain arrived. “I have to go.” I shrugged into my t-shirt and pulled on my overcoat.

“Will you come back tomorrow?”

“No, I have a date tomorrow night,” I spat at him. I yanked the door open and stepped out into the arctic December weather, hoping to freeze the hurt so I didn’t have to feel it.


	5. Chapter 5

The jarring discord from utter despair to blind fury warred for pure uninterrupted attention, my loyalty landed somewhere directly in the middle. Adopting the wintry glacial temperature that settled over England, the empty feeling of no Tom cut deep into my chest and took up residence: cold, ruthless, and unyielding. The raw, severe emotion nearly set me off into fits of tears or destruction, instead I was numb with it. Suffering from all of it and none of it all at once, I needed the control of something before I lost my shit.

I pushed off the memories of him. When my mind wandered to Tom, and how he caressed my hair or touched my lips with his fingertips, I constructed a wall of denial so as not to drown in the hurt. When my memory recalled Tom making me breakfast on days he delayed my progress, how he knew how I took my coffee, how I preferred my toast, I distracted myself with reading or the telly, instead of breaking a lamp. When my skin burned for contact however fleeting from him, I busied myself with scripts, scrambling to avoid any thought of him.

The angry half of me found extreme satisfaction in leaving him the way I did, naked and unable to chase me down. The sad half of me longed to run back and find whatever comfort he would grant me after leaving with no explanation. The longer I went without some kind of contact with him, my resolve began to crack - hard. Keeping my neglected mobile with me at all times, the blasted device mocked me by remaining silent, with no incoming texts or phone calls. I checked the display incessantly with the hope I’d missed something, like picking up a phone and checking for a dial tone to ensure the wires were functioning.

Tom didn’t contact me for nearly a week after going to the Big Apple, a few hours was a blink of an eye for him. I pondered again what kept him for so long since he was eager to get me into bed when I showed up on his doorstep. I thought he was punishing me for the City that did not sleep but  _did_  in fact sleep this time.   

Why did he have me go to his flat to dismiss me again? He stated that he hoped we would spend the evening in bed. But he took a phone call and told the other person that he was not busy… What was I supposed to believe? Why was he playing with me? Was he protecting his (and mine, by extension) privacy or was I just a dirty little secret?

I’d never been out in public with him, not since our show ended, not even a walk to the tube station. He made it abundantly clear that our relationship was strictly sex. And yet, we were so comfortable together. We could curl up with popcorn and a movie, share a meal, or play a game of scrabble that he always kicked my arse on. My heart was complicating things between us. That giddy, light feeling that I got in my stomach whenever I looked at him, the fluttering wild butterflies couldn’t be ignored or dampened, no matter how much Tom hurt me.

The crippling guilt and intense culpability invaded my conscience in the hours leading up to my date with Henry. I didn’t want to bring him into my misery and my muddled emotions. He deserved so much more than I could give him. Could I go sleep with a man one day and go out with another the next night? In no way did I believe that was healthy. How could I date a man who did not own my heart?

With the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on me, I rung Henry. “Abby.” The voice sighed my name happily, a twinge of a surprised question to the simple sound of my nickname.

I could feel a blush color my cheeks at the sound through my mobile. In spite of that reaction, there was no flittering or fluttering that Tom produced within me. I was still surprised that I could cause such a reaction from a simple phone call. Giggling nervously, I hooked a stray strand of hair behind my other ear as I so often did when I felt twitchy. “Hi, Henry.”

“An unexpected, yet very welcome surprise. What can I do for you, Abby?”

This Englishman sounded so hopeful, a genuine smile lilting his voice a step higher than normal. He truly liked me, and that fact never ceased to amaze and surprise me. I wanted to reciprocate his fondness and sentiment, as it would be easier than what I was about to do. The mounting shame and regret pained me hearing Henry’s warmth.

I stuttered feebly, unsure how to begin, grasping at shred of decency I possessed. His voice, smooth and low, stated helpfully, “You are ringing to break our date.” There was no hurt or accusation in his tone, only a matter of fact.

I gasped lightly, surprised by the nature of his statement and the indiscriminate tone. “I’m so sorry, Henry. I assure you…”

Together, in unison, we said, “It’s not you, it’s me.”

My giggle of anxiety returned, alleviating the tension on my part. Henry, in his good nature, reassured me, “Abby, little Abby, you avoid everything personal. I am not surprised. I’m disappointed but not surprised.”

I hung my head, rubbing a hand over my face. This is what my life had become since Tom waltzed in with his seduction and his smile and his charm. A decent fellow like Henry sussed out how secretive I was. I shook my head to myself, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey… none of that. I still like you, and your mystery is intriguing. You’re misty and I can appreciate that.”

I half smiled and furrowed my brow, sitting back in my chair. “Misty? I’m misty?”

I could envision the good natured smirk in his voice. “I meant it as a compliment. You can be hot or cold, depending on your mood. You are always in a state of suspension. And when you’re around, I see nothing but you. Misty.”

“Not to mention, scary and horrific, like the movie,” I informed him self-deprecatingly. I groaned realizing, embarrassingly so, that I was deflecting again.

Henry humored me with a polite laugh at my joke. “Hardly. You’re gorgeous, and endearing in your swirly way.”

“Swirly?” A surprising word to describe someone, I certainly didn’t think I was. I didn’t think anyone had ever been described as swirly.

“Just going along with the misty and avoid thing. Not my best work… but you are appreciated,” he admitted.

I was truly touched, the reminder so real considering the purpose for the call. Loving Henry would be so easy if my heart would cooperate. Even with the misty and the swirly descriptors, I couldn’t understand what he saw in me or what Tom did to seduce me. I was the average jeans and t-shirts kind of girl who chose to flaunt her femininity to herself. My bras and knickers, courtesy of Victoria’s Secret, were my way of exploring pretty.

Compliments and I were not well acquainted, having only met on a few notable occasions. Accepting or owning them were a skill I was never taught or shown how to possess. Reservedly, I spoke softly, “Henry, thank you! I don’t know how you put up with me.”

“I do take payment in polos, fruit flavored.” A comfortable, silent lull settled briefly after we laughed together over his affinity for polos. Henry audibly sighed, “Since you are breaking up with me before allowing a date to happen, I have a suggestion.”

I hesitated and fidgeted with my fingers, keeping my phone pinched between my ear and my shoulder. I bit my lip to keep the internal emotions internal. “Okay, I think I can handle a suggestion.”

“Seeing that I’m incredibly lazy and a shameful procrastinator, instead of a date, would you accompany me to Sainsbury’s? I’m down to a jar of peanut butter, an apple and three stale pieces of bread,” he said with mock disdain.

“You want me to go food shopping with you?”

“My evening just opened up.” He teased graciously, “Originally I was meant to be on a very romantic date with a beautiful girl, but she stood me up. Should do some menial task to fill my evening instead.”

I ran my hand over my hair, trying to figure out his angle. Henry was a good man, and was taking my torture of him so well. “My life is a bit of an upheaval, so no pressure?”

In my mind’s eye, I could see Henry shake his head in the negative and smile for me. “No pressure. Food shopping is the new coffee, you haven’t heard?”

In spite of myself, I laughed. “I didn’t know that. Well, I like coffee. Maybe I’ll like this food shopping thing.” Taking a deep breath, I offered, “Can you come over for a cuppa before we go? I feel I owe you something for putting up with me.”

Henry laughed, “I’ll take your pity cuppa. I’ll see you around seven.”

Henry and I spent some time talking like we were dating, light and natural with nothing personal shared. I stunned myself in looking forward to spending time with Henry, even though I pined for Tom. He was always there, in the back of my mind, in my heart. I carried him with me. Always.

To distract myself from my involuntarily hiatus as Tom’s lover and my impending non-date date with Henry, I cleaned my flat with a vengeance. I’m not good at the entire domestic chores, but I forced my focus away from my love life. I didn’t know how to handle either relationship, friendship –  _thing_. I didn’t have a lot of experience with love or like. I tended to latch on, cling to the next man that gave me the slightest interest. Losing my parents left me needy.

My track record was awful, but with Tom, I felt different. He wasn’t my salvation or my cure for my loneliness, only my heart. How I felt about him was incongruous to the lovers I had in the past, there had only been a few. Most were looking for a warm body, and I provided that to try and gain a closer connection. In a way, my situation with Tom was the same… _in a way_. As easy as Tom was to be with sexually, he was just as comfortable as a friend. We could sleep in the same bed, without the pressured expectation of sex. That made all the difference in my world.

Henry arrived promptly at seven, having ducked out of his work early to meet with me. I invited him into my tiny little flat and flipped on the kettle. He looked so adoringly out of place, a massive block of man at my teeny table. I poured tea for the both of us, and offered a plate of McVities as a snack. He smiled for me as I sat down across from him. “Abby, an electric kettle? You have a perfectly good stove.”

“I burn water, Henry. I’m quite serious.”

“That’s impossible, as in physics… impossible.”

I waved, holding my hand up like in class. “I did, I don’t know how.” I pointed to him to accentuate my point. “You have no idea what kind of chaos I can stir up.”

He shook his head at me. “A very poor kitchen pun, Abby. I think you can do better than that.”

“Implying I know my way around a kitchen and cooking.”

After our cuppa, we left my flat to make our way to Sainsbury’s. The weather turned to extremely cold and snowing. After locking my door behind me, Henry offered his arm for warmth and stability on the wet sidewalk. I gratefully accepted after pulling my overcoat snugly around me. Walking in the direction of the bus stop, the street was mostly deserted with one notable exception, the tall familiar figure stalking in our direction.

The surprise and shock at seeing Tom walking towards me was palpable. Without meaning to, I pulled free of Henry’s arm and stepped away from him. Henry noticed my reaction and the reaction of the man walking towards us. I wanted to run towards him, I wanted to run away from him, I needed the sidewalk to swallow me up. How was I supposed to hide my response?

Breathlessly, I said, “Tom.”

“Abigail.” I couldn’t read his expression, he went completely blank.

Henry recognized with some amazement, “Tom Hiddleston. Do you know each other?” He swung a pointed finger between us, indicating Tom and me.

I looked down at my feet. I couldn’t look at either one of them. My brain shut down, leaving me completely defenseless. I heard Tom say curtly, “We worked together. You are?”

“Henry.”

Wasting no time, Tom cut to the chase, “Abigail, may I speak with you please?” His voice was short and sharp.

Harsh.


	6. Chapter 6

May he speak with me?

Could I speak with him? I felt the overwhelming presence of both men, feeling incredibly small and vulnerable. I was stuck in the racing vortex of my own mind, and I was dizzy with it. Tension stuck its unwanted talons into the muscles of my shoulders and neck. I couldn’t concentrate beyond watching and feeling the air within my lungs. Puffs of mist escaped my mouth in short clouds. My chest burned with the bursts of oxygen scraping along my air passages, and echoed madly in my head. Well, at least I was, in fact, breathing.

Both men were staring at me, I could feel the weight of their blue eyes like the force of gravity. Forever present, but taken for granted. I was powerless, completely caught off guard to be faced with this choice, the man who wanted me and the man who had no idea what was happening between us. I couldn’t look at them or their expressions, only our odd collection of six feet and the wheel pattern we created on the sidewalk.

After a long pause, my mind considered my options. I didn’t like confrontation, and judging by the mere tone of Tom’s voice, suggested that was on the horizon. My first response, inclination was run, run like hell and hide. However my only hiding spot was my flat where I had just locked the door; escape would be arduous and the men I was running from would catch up to me long before I was safe inside.

My next thought was rail on Tom with my fist and feet until I was done exhausting my frustration and energy. Landing punches and kicks on him for every minute, thoroughly excruciating torturous minute, waiting for him. Hurting him for all the pain he put me through. I was not prone to violence and Tom would be able to wrestle me into submission.

I could dismiss Henry unceremoniously since he didn’t need to be privy to my affair with Tom. I’d tried so hard to keep that secret, to respect Tom and his privacy and his career. He didn’t include me for a reason and I was trying to respect that, even without knowing why. I was not intelligent enough to innuendo my way through a conversation where nothing is clearly said but the meaning is crystalline clear. Subtly is not a virtue I possessed.

Silence was working for my sanity so far, but I could feel the air thicken and crackle between the three of us. I wanted to scream, just to alleviate the heavy drama that hung there. Tom stood immobile in his power stance, in his very alpha masculine male way, exuding superiority. Henry stood very much in command of his own space, in control of his own space. The vibes from Tom were hostile in direct opposition to Henry who still was calm and collected. Of course not knowing the full scope of the dynamic between Tom and me, he didn’t have the knowledge to know that this was a showdown of sorts. I couldn’t fault poor unsuspecting Henry for that, if anything I wanted to shield him from the truth of it.

When I shivered visibly from the Arctic atmosphere of the snowy evening and the impossible chill from the silence, both men took a step closer to me. I can only assume they both backed down from seeing the other respond. The shifting of their feet on the pavement was my only clue. Tersely Tom said, “Abigail.” A threat, a reminder, a question, a request and a plea. Who could tell? All of the above, Tom always had so much going on in his head. I found myself wishing again that I factored or appeared there from time to time. I couldn’t ignore that his voice manipulated awareness within me and stirred desire under my skin.

I didn’t have a clear way of being fair to either one of them, and that hurt. I didn’t want to prolong this. I was cold, and I didn’t fancy having both of them together in my flat. I finally turned to Henry, “Henry, can you please give me two minutes?”

“Of course.” He took a few tentative steps in the general direction of the bus stop, the same course we were on before the unexpected delay.

I led Tom in the opposite way towards my flat to get out of earshot of Henry, renewing discretion as best I could. I hissed at him, “What are you doing here?” My brave face was for show, I didn’t feel as strong as I let on.

I instantly regretted leveling my gaze to his. His gorgeously blue eyes were hard set grey with none of the softness I was accustomed. I would sell my soul to return where we once were, to get my Tom back. His expression was fixed in a permanent scowl, immobile and steadfast. He had his back towards Henry and faced me full on. He kept his voice low, “What the fuck is going on here, Abby? Are you seeing him?”

Shoving a pointed finger into his chest, I refused to answer him. “What the hell do you care?”

“Answer my question.” That scary deadpan tone, edging on angry returned.

The apparent arrogant and entitled attitude ignited my own. Where did he get off being so stoic? His disposition about our situation agitated me, there was no true emotion. I’m not sure what I expected, but this wasn’t it. I was hoping for the slightest show of emotion, but Tom was giving up so little. I was surprised to see him on my block, but that little niggle inside my heart prayed that he was motivated by something emotional. That nugget of hope that I was worth fighting for was dying a slow and painful death with every tick of the clock. And Tom remained stolid, irritatingly so.

Internally I begged and implored him to show an ounce of emotion, something for me to hold onto. Tears pricked painfully behind my retinas as I looked up at him, declaring all I felt for him with my eyes. “You’re at my flat.” I gestured at my door that we standing before in the snow. “You answer my question first. You’ve got one minute.”

He rolled his shoulders back, somehow making himself appear bigger. Ultimatums were clearly not his favorite thing, or my pointing out that he owed me explanation. “Abby, you stormed out of my place yesterday, angry with me, much to my curiosity. I must admit sex with you is a lot more enjoyable with you there.”

Again I was faced with the awful, ugly truth. How many times did I need him to tell me that I was only good for the physical affection? I looked down, hit by the cold hard truth that he wasn’t going to wrap his arms around me and tell me he cared. The lump in my throat became unimaginably painful, and impossible to swallow around. One rogue tear escaped and rolled down my cheek, chilling instantly in the winter air. I swiped the moist track from my skin with my palm, a bitterness so intense I could taste it driving that movement.

I shook my head a few times, pushing away the agony. Tom either didn’t see or recognize or chose to ignore the solitary sign of sadness that his words had on me. That cold stoic expression was still firmly in place, betraying absolutely nothing to me. Suddenly it hit me that his expression may be telling a lot more than I wanted to admit.

Maybe Tom felt nothing.

“I’m going now, with Henry. He appreciates me for more than my lady parts and orgasms.” I started to walk away, but Tom stopped me with clutch of my arm. His grip was tight and unyielding if not a little painful, and I couldn’t move.

“Are you letting that man touch you? Have you been with him while you’ve been with me?” A fire lit behind his eyes, and it was the only emotion I was allowed to see. It didn’t help me feel any amount of satisfaction. He was worried about sharing his toy.

“Damn it, Tom! I am not just a hole for you to stick your dick in! You can’t claim me like a possession!”

With the force of my rage from the less than human treatment and the lack of emotion from him, I ripped my arm from Tom’s vice like grip. I stomped down the block to Henry and demanded, “Please. Can we go?”

The man displayed concern and confusion, looking between me and Tom. Sympathy coated his voice, “Is everything alright, Abby?”

“Ignore him. Please let’s go. I can’t be here anymore.” The tears arrived suddenly with a choked sob stuck in my throat. I tried, with all my self-control and strength, I tried to keep them in. Tom knew how to push my buttons and get under my skin like no other.

Henry shifted his gaze from me to Tom, Tom to me, me to Tom. Finally he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, deciding that I needed him more. He couldn’t have heard the intricacies and delicacies of my talk with Tom; we’d kept it between us. He was decent enough not to ask either. He escorted me around the block away from Tom and my flat.

Once we were clear of Tom’s line of vision, Henry asked softly, “Can you talk about what happened back there?”

I shook my head and gave him a watery pathetic look. “I can’t. I won’t. You’d hate me, I hate me. I just can’t…” I trailed off as another rush of tears consumed me.

I couldn’t believe I’d done it. I stood up for myself at the cost of everything I wanted, Tom. I couldn’t see him allowing me back into his life after pointing out how insensitive he was. I shared more than I meant to, but his demeanor cut through my defenses. The only thought in my head was that I’d lost him.

Henry squeezed my shoulders and pulled me closer to him as we continued walking. “He’s the reason you won’t see me, isn’t he? He’s the one who captured your heart.”

“Henry, please! You can’t say anything to anyone. This has to stay between us!”

“Hey, hey. It’s not my secret to tell, Abby. I won’t tell a soul,” he promised in all Henry sincerity.

I couldn’t continue on like this. I wanted Tom, I wanted home. “I can’t do this. Henry, I’m sorry. You deserve so much more than this.” I turned and faced him, tears mixing with snow. My cheeks were chapped and raw, as were my lips. I continued through sobs, “Tom got to me tonight, and he always does. I want to not like, not to care. I’d like to go to Starbucks and Sainsbury’s and Marks and Spencer and Boots and Waterstone with you. But whenever I do, I bring him with me.”

Henry looked at a complete loss, but I couldn’t stop the monologue once it started. Months of repressing my feelings for Tom, all I’d been through with him, and my absolute need to share something with somebody. I had to be free the emotions before I exploded with it. Sucking in the cold sobering cold air, I coughed slightly, feeling the shock down to my lungs. “I can’t go with you tonight. I’m so sorry. There’s only one man I want to be with, and I just turned my back on him. I want him!”

Realizing I’d unloaded more than I intended, my hand flew to my mouth with a gasp of surprise. Suddenly I took off, my feet carrying me away, back to my flat, needing the comfort of something familiar. Leaving Henry calling my name behind me, my only thought was to go home. When I turned the corner, I half expected to see Tom still there, but not at all surprised that he was gone. He didn’t get it. He didn’t want me the same way I wanted him.

Humiliated, rejected and emotionally despondent, I let myself back into my flat. Locking up everything tightly behind me, I crawled into bed without turning on a light and let the cold and the dark envelop me.


	7. Chapter 7

I’m not sure how much time passed before I was able to uncurl from the fetal position I’d put myself in. My mobile rang incessantly, but the energy required to lift my head and determine the caller was too much effort. The tears that had wracked my body gradually died away, followed by heaving sighs and loud hiccoughs of air. Finally, I laid there staring into the darkness, too numb for any more crying or moving.

I was forced to move to answer the phone when the ringing became too much for my head, an ache sunk deeply between my temples from overwrought emotions. With voice dull and sore from the sobs, I answered without looking at the display. I assumed it would be Henry, ringing to see how I was after leaving him so abruptly.

“Abigail,” Tom’s perfect and calming inflection followed my pickup. I couldn’t subdue the sharp intake of oxygen that the gorgeous timbre of his voice saying my name caused.

After spending the past indeterminate amount of time believing I’d never speak with him again, I was amazed that he was on the other end of the line. My heart galloped wildly within my chest, blood racing through my veins at twice the normal rate. Like listening to the hollow inside of a seashell, I could hear and feel the rush. I was heady and dizzy with the adrenaline, exacerbating the throbbing in my head. A non-issue since he was on the other end of the line, and he wanted to talk to me.

Something deep inside me knew that I should stay angry, hold onto that feeling, but my vivacity was tapped out and down for the count. Before I could say anything at all, Tom asked, “I’ve surprised you, haven’t I?” His voice was back to normal, no edge, no anger. Perhaps it was my desire for it, but I heard a note of sympathy and regret.

I agreed softly, “I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me.”

Tom sighed in my ear. “We’re both under some ugly assumptions that I’d really like to clear up. Can we chat like the  _human_  versions of ourselves?”

The urge to quip quickly died on my lips as it didn’t feel appropriate. I hoped against hope and wished against wish to my soul that he was apologizing. With no aside or insinuation intended, I agreed. “I can handle being a human.” There were so many ways to take that statement, and I was honestly biting my tongue to keep it as bland as possible. There was tension, hurt and anger for me to work through, but if he was extending the olive branch, I wasn’t refusing or smacking it away.

Tom’s breath hitched, and followed by a shiver. “If I knock on your door, will you let me come inside and out of this Baltic weather?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You have exactly fifteen seconds, Abby.”

Ignoring my puffy face and bloodshot eyes from the emotional avalanche, I ran through my flat to the entryway and opened the door before Tom had the chance to knock. I hugged my arms around me to ward off the frozen temperature. I stood in the doorway and peeked out into the winter wonderland. He walked up and stood in front of me, with white snowflakes in his ringlets. My insides melted at seeing him again despite the cold, regardless of the animosity that we’d exchanged the last time we saw each other. He looked so cold, all healthy glow drained from his face, lips chapped and reddened, red ears, yet his expression was so warm. The longing to touch him in some way to assure myself that he was really there took hold and proved difficult to quell.

I waved him in as the cold shook my small frame. As he stepped inside, he brushed a small caress along my cheek with his thumb. A small show of intimacy boosted my confidence so much. That was my Tom, and that familiar fluttering returned. How had this gone so far off the rails? Somehow the cathartic fit of crying had exorcised most of the antagonism that I had been holding for weeks. Acknowledging and respecting the emotional tension between us, I took a deep breath to calm and center me to keep the tears at bay. I closed the door behind him, rubbing my arms violently. He hung his coat in the front hall closet and shook the stubborn flakes from his red hair.

“Do you want a cuppa?” I offered, needing the warmth, needing the activity.

“Gagging for one.”

I deposited my mobile with a loud clatter on the coffee table on the way to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Tom followed closely behind me into the kitchen, sensing my nervous energy. As I set two oversized mugs on the kitchen counter, he stepped into my peripheral and hovered at my right elbow. His presence, his aura wrapped around me like an embrace. I froze in my retrieval of mugs and setting out the tea, feeling him there with a hair-breath between us. When he saw that I’d stopped, he turned me to him with a hand on each shoulder. He tenderly cupped my face between his palms, the tips of his fingers buried in the roots of my hair. He eased my gaze to meet with his by a gentle guidance of his hands. One hand tangled in the strands of my hair, twisting the ends around his fingers.

“Let’s dispense with all the tension and stress…” Tom lowered his lips to mine, and captured them in a soft kiss. A reminder of what we were and how we fit. We were most comfortable in a physical connection, and the gesture was perfectly landed.

In his kiss, I was lost and found all at once.

In his kiss, all was right in my world, and he was it.

In his kiss, I found the definition of love. I was hopelessly in love with him.

My heart was full and my head was light. These stolen moments, these slivers of time when he showed me affection had claimed me as his. The encouragement when I was auditioning for something new. Listening to my problems and helping with a massage or a way to forget. Personal reminders of all we’d been through together. Watching telly together. Letting me fall asleep on his lap. Sharing a meal together.

When it was just us, he made me feel wanted.

In his kiss.

The intimate, soft caress was no longer than a moment, but the comfort we needed to see us through the difficult conversation. My nervous, jittery energy melted away with that touch. Tom smiled lopsidedly before planting himself on the sofa while I made tea.

Two tea mugs in hand, I joined him in the living room, sitting on the opposite side of the couch. We turned towards each other, leaving a full cushion width between us. There was so much to say, I was lost at where to begin.

I didn’t have to, Tom anticipated my need for him to start. “Are you willing to tell me what you were angry about yesterday when you stormed out of my flat?” He put on a sheepish expression to take responsibility for what I thought was worth turning my back on.

“The phone call.” He shook his head and furrowed his brow to indicate that he didn’t understand. “I was… I- I overheard you say that you weren’t busy… and… I was… You were expecting someone else,” I stammered through, trying to remain delicate. The reminder of our activities before that phone call heavily implied and remained unspoken.

He reached out and touched my knee as a sign of assurance quickly. In a soothing manner, he simply said, “Abby, that call was my publicist, Luke. He needed me to approve a schedule, and I asked him to email it to me. It would’ve taken three minutes, I was planning on spending the night with you. I wanted to spend the night with you.”

Of course that made sense, but… “How was I supposed to know?”

“You took off before I could explain that.”

Only lightly put off, “You didn’t talk to me for over ten days before that.”

Remaining calm to try to appease me, Tom stated, “I was working, Abby. My flight back from New York City was delayed, and I missed a day of shoots on location in Gloucester for The Hollow Crown. I had to make up for the lost day of shooting. The day I sent you a message was the day I returned home.”

I objected quietly, “You didn’t ring me. I didn’t know you returned.”

He fished his phone from his jeans pocket and placed it on his bent leg resting on the sofa. He pointed to my phone on the coffee table. “May I?” I nodded, confused about what he was doing. He unlocked my phone and swiped at the screen a few times. I watched him, puzzled… then his phone rang. He smiled. “Your mobile works the other way as well.” He wasn’t making fun of me, he was patient and understanding.

The full weight of my personal paranoia shocked me. Tom reached out and took my hand as he discerned what was going on. He was being so patient and understanding, maddeningly so. As if I could feel any deeper for him, my heart swelled. He was pulled me across the expanse between us into his lap.  

“You weren’t punishing me for New York then,” I stated out loud for myself. My head slowly wrapping around the past few weeks with a new perspective.

He shook his head vehemently. “Darling, why would I punish you for that?” I shrugged but we both remembered that heated discussion in his bathroom. “I was disappointed that you couldn’t join me, of course I was. But I was not punishing you.”

“And you weren’t trying to chuck me off before you left?” I asked embarrassed.

“I was with you every moment I could be prior to take off. Jesus, darling, I got on the aeroplane smelling your peach smell and sex on my skin, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I like what we have.”

I took several minutes to concentrate on my breathing, avoiding his eyes while I processed the new information. Tom let me have the time to realign my thinking.

Eventually, he turned me to look at him, his hand stroking over my hair, drawing my attention back to him. He murmured, “I like you Abby. I need to remind you of that more often.”

He liked me.  _He liked me?_

With conviction, he whispered, “I’m sorry that I forgot to tell you when you needed it most. I don’t want what happened between us to happen again.”

I stroked his cheek softly, hoping that this was the moment he would tell me that we were more than just friends with benefits. “Oh, Tom. What made you change your mind?”

He smirked. “You’re not going to believe this, but I ran into Henry.”

I blinked at him once. Twice. I lowered my hand from his face and stared at him dumbly. I shook my head. “Henry?”

“I ran into him outside the Tube after you didn’t go with him. I wasn’t going to leave. I swiped my Oyster Card to go home, but changed my mind. I couldn’t leave things the way they were with us, knowing how upset you were. He saw me, and approached me and knocked some sense into me.”

Panic gripped me since I remembered my last words to him were about my feelings for Tom. No, this wasn’t what I wanted. I clenched my fists in my lap, and asked through gritted teeth, “What did he say?”

“That I needed to wake up call. You, Abby, have a huge heart and need the assurance of others to tell you that you are beautiful sometimes. He also reminded me that I should be the one to do it.”

“Henry wants to be the one to do it.”  _Wake up, Tom. Please understand…_

Tom’s expression changed from compassionate to twinged with a hard edge. His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, his face slackened and elongated. Through pursed lips, he asked, “Is Henry the one you want to remind you?”

_He didn’t understand._


	8. Chapter 8

Frozen in time, I quickly thought through my options. Overall, I didn’t fancy losing Tom in my every day. I didn’t like being angry with him, but I didn’t want to be taken advantage of anymore either. Henry offered a promise of romance and wanting me for me. However, I needed passion and fire and heat. I longed for a man that could provide both, and I wanted Tom to fill the void. We had the scorching torrid blaze, and I was convinced that we could have the saccharine sweet love, as well.

Something was happening between us, Tom and me, I was sure as I met his gaze steadily. I wasn’t the only one feeling more than this friendship – understanding –  _thing_ -might suggest. There was jealousy in Tom’s tone, in his expression, and as much as he wanted to believe it was a claim or possession over me, that feeling had to be rooted in something more than like (as he called it). He might not be ready to admit that our  _thing_  had progressed beyond the physical. Hell, I was terrified to face it.

Acknowledging that I was in love with him was monumental enough for one night. I needed the breather to be comfortable enough to say it out loud, to say it to him. The revelation was still so new, not entirely unexpected but recent nonetheless. I was going to give Tom some time to face that there was more between us, dare I say love…

He didn’t understand now. But he would.

Adjusting my position in his lap, I faced him and straddled his lap to get as close to him as humanly possible. I needed him to at the very least recognize that he was my choice, the man I wanted in my life. Cupping his face between my palms, my wrists meeting under his chin. I felt his hands trace the curve of my back all the way down to my backside and squeezed me, center to groin.

Achingly slow, he lifted his eyes to me and grazed a fleeting endearment on his lips. Choosing my words carefully, precisely, I whispered, “I like what we have, but there is something attractive about what he offers.”

His grip on me tightened subtly, so subtly that I couldn’t be sure if he even realized that he made that involuntary intimation. I felt his jaw work against my palms, another clue to his inner demons. Suspicious eyes darted back and forth on mine and through gritted teeth, he asked, “Is that what you want, Abigail?”

Taking up the protest as my opportunity, I appealed to him, “Show me that I don’t.”

His piercing blue eyes stopped and cut through me for a long time. Unconsciously I held my breath, awaiting my fate.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop…

Waiting for him to shake me off as not worth his time, his energy, his affection…

He seemed to be reading my heart and soul through my eyes to see his name tattooed there permanently. Forevermore, his name scorched and branded indelibly within the fibers of my being. If this snippet, this ripple determined my further, this too was imprinted upon me.

With the bottom of the hourglass full and no more grains of sand left to funnel down, Tom kissed me, eyes still open, in his way facing his future. Burying one of his hands in the thick of my hair, his palm held me firmly to his lips, searing that kiss into memory. As the saying goes, life is made of moments, and I knew this was one of mine.

In his kiss.

I laid a path before him and he had chosen me, regardless of whether he knew he had or not. Coaxing my tongue out of its hiding place behind my teeth, he massaged and wheedled mine. Eyelids slid closed as we slanted our heads to deepen our mouths into the glorious meld of tongues, teeth and sighs. I tasted tea and Tom along his tongue, awakening a craving and thirst for more. Moving my hands from under his chin, I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck and melted into him. The prickle of his goatee brushed against my skin, sending shivers of exaltation through me.

Renewed desire gathered and pooled at my very center, pressed deliciously into his stiffening flesh. Lowering my back to the sofa, he settled over me. My anxious groan as he pressed me between him and the cushions matched with that of the furniture under the shift in weight. Moaning into my jaw, he kissed a trail from my mouth to my ear and beyond to the column of my neck. Following the pathway, he laid his head between my breasts, breathing heavy against my racing heartbeat. I held him to me, taking the moment to catch my breath and feel him. One hand slid from my back to my breast.

Molding the rounded flesh to his palm, he squeezed gently as he watched his hand perform the action. He then took the cotton covered that same spot with open mouthed kiss. Even through the two layers of clothing, my nipple pebbled and begged for more attention. His determined hands hiked my t-shirt up to expose my belly and bra covered breasts. Repeating the same ministration with his mouth, he wet the satin of my bra. Teeth scraped over the hardened yet delicate flesh underneath. My back arched into the manipulation and an inarticulate sound escaped my throat.

Carefully taking my other breast in hand, he stroked his hardened cock against me. In anticipation, my channel clenched briefly, moistening in readiness for him. Before covering my mouth with his again, he stripped me of my t-shirt and bra. I managed to pull him free of his shirt, blazing skin against skin. Rubbing me sensually, he mimicked what we would do if we were completely bare.

He whispered my name against my lips, before swallowing my lips again in a hungry kiss. Intense anxiousness led us to shed the rest of clothing quickly. Wasting no more time, he sheathed himself within me with an assured and even thrust. We sighed and moaned together, the divine tangle of our bodies took on a different and more significant meaning, the fuse more emotional than physical. He stayed in me long after we reached rapture. We slept through the night wrapped around each other in my bed. In the quiet dead of night without a word spoken between us, Tom took me sweetly once more.

In the morning, he had to rise before me for his shooting schedule for The Hollow Crown. Unlike me, Tom never needed an alarm clock to wake to, instinctively his body woke him when he needed to be up. He was showered and dressed before he woke me gently with a brush of his lips on my temple and my lips. He brushed my hair from my face. “Abby, I’ll talk to you later, baby.”

He may not have picked up on the term of endearment, I certainly did, even only half awake.

I arrived at the BBC studio well before call time, in an attempt to subvert my producer’s attentions. My attempt was unsuccessful as evil Dennis was waiting for me and all the other females due on set for the day. “When are you joining me one of these Thursdays down at the pub, Abby-girl?”

With my canned sympathetic expression firmly in place, I said like so many times before, “When my relationship status becomes less complicated.” I crossed my fingers with the hope that I’d gotten through to Tom and he’d come through and admit he cared.

Taking my hand and squeezing it with his clammy claw, Dennis offered, “I’ll uncomplicate it for you, if you join me.” The suggestion was clear that he was not looking for a drinking partner. “Who’s this man of yours? What’s he got that I don’t?”

“I never said I was seeing a man.” I pulled my hand from his, and inconspicuously wiped the uncleanliness on my jeans.

His eyes lit up as the revelation sunk into his foul mind. “Little Abby, you dirty girl. Bring your bird along, I could show both of you a good time.”

I giggled, unable to keep a straight countenance under his close attentions on me. “No, no… I’m not seeing a girl. Let’s just say it’s complicated, and leave it at that.” I tried for vague, mindful that Tom wasn’t ready to admit to anyone that we were together, if our  _thing_  could be considered together. I’m only good a deflecting, but I admit I was doing well with this man.

His gaze narrowed on me in a very real scowl. “Don’t play with me, Abby. I’m not amused by your games,” the warning quite clear and hung there like a threat. All the flirt had disappeared from his tone and face. If I didn’t need the job and the credit on my resume, I would walk out the door and never look back. Producers in London held too much power and say on the fate of actors in their employ, especially one as wealthy as Dennis. Biting my tongue and fighting the urge to lose my breakfast all over him, I shrugged and ducked away. I somehow knew that the small exchange had offended him and I was in for a rough go of it for a while on set.

I retreated to my dressing room and the wardrobe department to get ready for my shoots. To pass the time, I brought my phone with me to contact Henry. He had texted while I was with Tom and I didn’t get a chance to respond. The girls in hair/makeup/costumes were always a talkative bunch, but on rare occasions when they were moody, I was shuffled through without a word. Emma, the overbearing blond in charge of my tresses, bellowed when I entered the room.

“Abby! You’ve been holding out on us!”

Shocked by her reaction to seeing me, my mind reeled trying to suss out exactly what she could’ve discovered that I withheld. Since Tom entered my life, I wasn’t shy or reserved, except I didn’t talk about personal things. I wasn’t quiet or afraid of speaking my mind outside of a character, although I avoided private matters. “I tell you everything, Emma,” my voice betraying my defensive manner.

“You silly cow, you worked with Loki and you didn’t tell us,” she scolded. I glanced at the three disappointed faces of Emma, makeup artist Stephanie and costumer Lucy.

I giggled nervously and mentally worked through what I could say and not say. “Oh! Yes, my last job. I appeared onstage with him.”

Lucy spoke up, “There’s a lot more to it than that! You were his love interest.”

I nodded, playing as coy as I possibly could. “Yes. A fun production, I really liked that play.”

Emma piped up again, “Well, spill! Tell us everything about him. He’s hotter than sin.”

Oh, I had sinned. I coughed into my hand, covering my hesitation, buying time. I suppressed the memories of all the sexual engagements that I actively participated in with Tom. Of course the mirror in front of me, a constant reminder, was not helping me to keep my cool before these women. Abashment colored my cheeks in a lovely shade of pink. My best line of defense was to agree with them, and change the subject as quickly as possible.

I looked down at my fidgeting hands with a tiny grin. “He is. Enjoyed working with him. I met him the first day of rehearsals. I was still doing that play when I started here-”

Stephanie interrupted suddenly, “But what about the man?”

I shrugged, trying to distract them, “Phenomenal actor, polite man.” I smirked, “Incessant talker. Insanely good-looking.”

The three women collectively sighed before launching into a long discussion about his eyes, his body, his other movies, and what they would do to him if given the opportunity. I stayed mostly silent to keep from saying anything that might hint at my nightlife. Typical talk for these women, unusual that the dialogue surrounded the man I was intimate with. It was a bit surreal and outrageously secretive, but I knew if I kept my head down and my mouth shut, they’d move onto a new subject.

I typed out a quick text to Henry: ‘Can you meet me after work? I think I need some reinforcements from my boss, hitting on me again. Mind playing my bf for a little while?’


	9. Chapter 9

Henry arrived at the studio and was led in by a production assistant to the stage since I’d cleared him. He took in the last few takes of the day from the wings coupled with a stale muffin and a warm cup of orange juice from the catering table. The girls, Stephanie, Emma and Lucy, after seeing ‘my boyfriend’ washed my face, relieved my hair from the severe bun and changed me out of my costume in record time. I was pushed out of the door directly into the waiting suitor with a definitive chorus of: ‘You go get some’ and ‘Damn, that man is fine’ and ‘I want a piece of that.’

My good friend took my hand and interlocked fingers with me. To cement the act, he leaned into my ear miming a kiss, “Has he seen us yet?”

I giggled soundly, “No, probably near the exit. We have to walk by his office.”

“For a sincere performance, you owe me a beer.”

“But you’re already doing so well. The girls, I think, are staging an intervention or planning my death, to get to you.” Ushering him towards the exit, I asked, “Let’s share a pint.”

Hugging his muscular arm to my chest, I paraded Henry past the office of my evil producer, Dennis, the man that unfairly held my future in his hands and saw fit to not let me forget. I needed Henry around to make it clear to my unsavory producer that I was unavailable. Wrapped around and hanging off Henry like a curtain should clarify the issue. Slowing our step past the office, Henry and I pretended to giggle together over a shared private joke. Out the corner of my eye, Dennis rose to his feet, his wheeled chair smacking into the wall behind him.

Listening to his heavy footfalls chase us down worried me after his stern warning earlier. With every closer, louder step increased my anxiety over having to work with the man and nowhere else to go. Gripping Henry a little tighter communicated to him that I was distressed. When Dennis called my name, I repressed an involuntary jump and turned back in his direction. My friend beside slipped his hand into mine in silent solidarity.

“Abigail, I would like to see you in my office tomorrow morning at nine a.m.,” my boss demanded tersely.

With false glee, I smiled, “Sure thing. See you then.” I waved to discourage any further conversation and to keep the distance between us.

As soon as we were clear of the studio and the slimy, evil producer, he prodded for information. “How’s things?” I knew what he was getting at, because he pushed Tom into coming back to me. Henry, in his invested way, was asking after my well-being following my discussion with Tom.

“I’m okay,” I told him apprehensively. “I apologize for getting you all tangled in that. I never meant to tell you as much as I did or let you see me cry.”

“You didn’t tell much. Abby… master deflector. We’re still friends, love.” We ducked into the Tube stairwell to travel to Henry’s pub.

“Thanks, Henry. Tom and I talked…,” I trailed off, not knowing how much to say, cautious of blabbing more than I should. I swiped my Oyster card and stepped through the turnstile with Henry directly behind me. I already divulged more than I intended until I knew what my relationship with Tom became, a memory or a future.

As we carefully stepped onto the descending escalator, Henry mused, “You don’t have to tell me. My only concern, truly, is you. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

I glanced over my shoulder to where he was standing behind me on the next step. “I’m grateful. What did you say to him? What did he tell you?”

His right eyebrow shot up under his floppy bangs. “Abby, he’s about as closed-lip as you.” We stepped off the escalator and bee-lined to the platform. The digital readout stated another train was arriving in approximately two minutes. “All I did was remind him that you are alone and you deserve to be happy. So whatever is going on there,” he wiggled his fingers in my general direction. “If you want him, as you said, he better do right by you.”

When the train arrived and the disembodied voice spoke ‘Mind the gap’, we stepped inside. Holding on to the same support bar in the center of the car, I said, “Thank you.” We were quiet for most of the journey, smiling at each other randomly.

Henry, in his proactive wisdom, brought audition notices for both him and me to review over a pint each. I think his main objective was to get me to spend more time with him on these auditions. The only problem for me was most of the notices were three weeks away. Being mid-December, shows weren’t being mounted until after the New Year which meant I was stuck in my crummy job.

My mobile sounded interrupting the article Henry was sharing with me about upcoming tryouts for another Tennessee Williams play. I excused myself, hoisted my arse off the barstool and found a somewhat quiet corner. “Tom,” I sighed happily into the device seeing his name and picture on the display. The all too familiar fluttering inside and the wide smile were in full effect. He thought of me, rung me, and I couldn’t be happier.

“Abby, it’s so good to hear your voice.” The man sounded shattered, his voice raspy and gravelly from overuse.

“What’s happened?” If I wanted to hide my concern for him, I knew I couldn’t. I wasn’t that good an actress.

“Tough day of shoots, battles, yelling.”

“Henry isn’t a comedy then?”

I could hear his smile in his voice on the other end of the line. “You haven’t read it?”

Defensively, I confessed, “I started.”

“How far did you get?” He sounded doubtful.

“The title. Act one. Enter chorus.”

“Abby, that’s the first line.”

“Well, I started!”

He huffed a little laugh and then turned silent. Straining my ear over the noises of the pub and the soft hum of the cellular towers that kept us connected, I tried to put him in context. On set? At home? Did he want to see me? Was he too tired? Was he done with me? Was he too busy? All my hopes and nightmares were rushed in with the unnerving quiet. I didn’t know where he was or what he had called for. I was hoping that this was his way of telling me without telling me that we were a ‘we.’

He uttered hesitantly, “Abigail, I need you tonight. Will you meet me at my flat?” There was darkness to his tone, something deeper than our usual rendezvous. He needed me and I focused on those three words.

My heart tripped into overdrive with the confession and the companion request. I would meet him wherever, whenever he needed me. The concerned anxiety from hearing his raspy voice returned immediately with his words. “Yes. Where are you?”

“I’m still on set, but I’m done for the day. I should be back within an hour or two. You know where the spare key is, if you get there before I do.”

I nodded despite his being unable to see me. “Do you need dinner?”

“Abby, stay out of my kitchen without adult supervision.”

“Take away. I meant take away.”

After ringing off with Tom, I finished my drink before excusing myself from Henry. He asked to see me home since the early winter evening, but I graciously declined avoiding the reason. I asked him to email me the other announcements that we didn’t get to before I was called away. I flew out into the frigid night, not minding either because Tom wanted to see me. My life was bright and my heart warm.

I let myself into his dark flat twenty minutes later and turned up the heat before getting comfortable. I kicked off my shoes in the middle of the hall between the front door and Tom’s bedroom as I always did. I rummaged through his wardrobe for substitute clothing for me to wear for the evening. I chose one of his well-used solid colored t-shit and a pair of his black socks to pad around in. He had decided against take away, so I gathered some food and brought it through to the living room.

To pass the time, I put on a rerun of Top Gear because those blokes made me cackle like a mad woman. I knew nothing about cars or speed or aerodynamics, but it was just about the only telly program I had the attention span to stomach. I also had a little crush for Richard Hammond, because his stature was very similar to my own and he had a pretty smile. I curled up under a warm blanket to wait for him.

He stumbled through the door about an hour later with heavy footfalls and curses under his breath. I hurried through to greet and help him. He dropped his bags and overcoat as though it was searing his skin to third degree burns. The man pulled me into a giant bear hug before the door closed behind him. His frame nearly absorbed mine by his size. The force of his embrace bowed me backwards, his arms folded about my waist. Wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, I caressed his back in soothing strokes. I could feel the tension and stress in his muscles, and I ached for him. He drew deep lungful of deep breaths through my hair at the crook of my neck where he’d buried his face.

I wasn’t sure exactly what to say or do as I’d never seen him quite like this. The longer we stood in silence I could feel him relax under my fingertips and from the way his arms didn’t squeeze me as desperately. Speaking to the ceiling, I said softly, “I’m here, Tom.” It was an assurance and a promise to remind him that I would always be there if he wished it.

He sighed my name before he reluctantly released me. I searched his face for clues for his bleak mood. This was a striking difference to the youthful, exuberance I’d come to expect from him, aside from our recent troubles. His countenance showed none of his smile, instead a line of worry or strain creased down the center of his forehead. I ran a gentle touch along the etching trying to bring forth the man I was so familiar with. He closed his eyes to concentrate on that touch, allowing me to ease away the trouble.

He gave a weak smile that never reached his eyes. “It’s so good to see you.”

I took his hand and led him to his living room for a sit down. “What happened today?” I looked down at our hands curled around each other, and immediately started. His hands were rough, calloused, and chapped from the winter weather, the delicate skin cracked and caked with dirt and dried blood. Nearly shouting at him, I questioned, “Jesus, Tom, what the hell happened?”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise at my outburst. “Tough day of shoots, long hours in the frigid air. The battle of Agincourt today- anger, vengeance, slaughter, war. All the darkness of humanity, everything I try to avoid.”

Gingerly, I touched the rough skin of his hands. “You don’t usually let all that in. Why was today different?”

He shook his head at a complete loss for words. I placed my index finger over his lips to stop him from trying to talk his way out of this. I suspected that he was feeling vulnerable about what was happening between us. The night before had been a defining moment in our relationship, and Tom was feeling the weight of it whether he was ready to admit it or not. I kissed him gently as I lifted myself from the sofa.

“Lemme see to your wounds. Stay here.” I fetched a bowl of warm water, a spot of soap, a flannel, a towel, ointment and lotion to address his hands. I sat before him to clean his left hand first. Dipping his hand in the warm water, and washing it thoroughly, he watched me closely.

He motioned with his unoccupied hand to the food I’d laid out for him. “Abby, what is that?” His mouth was twisted up at the corners lightly.

“You said no takeaway, so I cooked!”

He laughed out loud, the darkness I’d seen when he first arrived melting away. “It’s an apple and a piece of bread on a plate.”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Dinner.”

“Abby, that’s not enough food to constitute a meal.”

“I can get you another apple,” I offered helpfully. He continued to laugh at my choices while I saw to his hands. Once I had finished, he led me to his bedroom for the rest of the evening and I helped him to erase the troubles for day. He sought and found the salve for his distressed disposition in my arms.


	10. Chapter 10

In the morning, I was delivered from slumber’s sweet embrace with the intoxicating smell of Tom’s body wash wafting through the en suite bathroom door. The white noise of running water tried in vain to seduce me back into the serenity of sleep. Sliding my hand across the sheets to where my lover should have been, the echo of his body heat spoke to my palm, telling me that he’d just vacated the spot. Gingerly opening my eyes to the bedside clock, I noted the early hour.

Unable to resist the call of hot wet naked man in the bathroom, I gracefully slid from the always welcoming clutch of his bed. Stretching wildly and yawning madly, my limbs worked out the last of repose and taking in the dawn of a new day. Padding into the tiled bathroom, I joined Tom in his steaming hot shower. The room was seeped in the beginning haze of heated mist, the air intimate and encompassing. I slipped in silently behind Tom and wrapped my arms around him, my elbows hooked under his, my front salaciously pressed to his back, my hands resting high on his chest. I splayed one hand in the small patch of hair in the center of chest and the other over his heart, staking my claim over him. The steady even thump, thump, thump was grounding and incredibly intimate. The water was divine, as was the man before me.

As the water soaked into my hair and my skin, I laid a kiss in the center of his back, as his hands found my thighs. “Good morning,” I spoke into his spinal cord, marveling at the hard lines of his body. He was so lean and so muscular, I couldn’t keep my hands off him if I tried. I kissed a line from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, amazed as the skin and muscles of his back responded favorably. I pressed my breasts further into him, nestling into him as much as I could. The supple flesh of my thighs were treated to a squeeze of appreciation in return.

I felt rather than heard him groan, his chest vibrated as the running water robbed me of the audible joy of it. I adjusted my pelvis along his rear, ensuring he felt every shift from foot to foot. “Abby, you’re teasing.” The timbre of his voice and the nature of his playful accusation sent a pool of desire straight to my core.

“Did I give you any indication that I wouldn’t follow through?” My right hand began the long trek from nipple to cock, treading slowly along his happy trail, every inch infusing me with glee. His head fell forward to watch the show of my taking matters well in hand. My palm was rewarded for my passage with a fistful of firm male flesh, my touch causing it to harden and elongate. Good morning indeed. Stroking languidly, feeling wet satiny steel, I nibbled a trail down his spine as far as my lips could go. Under my arms, I could feel the muscles in his abdomen flex and coil with the tightening and hardening just below.

Steadying himself with a deep draw of breath, his body fully in my control, he breathed out, “You’re up early.”

I sniggered into his shoulder, “So are you.” I grazed my teeth along the corner of his shoulder blade and he tensed with anticipation, my hand keeping a steady rhythm on his length.

“What time do you have to work?”

I smiled broadly. “Sizing up the number of things you can do to me… or what I can do to you before work?” The heavy ache at my center burned with the need to do everything that came to his filthy mind.

“Precisely,” the three syllables pronounced crisply in his aroused state. “Oh God, Abby, I need to touch you.” I squeaked as my walls clenched and moistened in the desire for him to do just that. He took my hands in his and pulled me around to face him. Cuddling into him as best I could, our bodies aligned, finding the most comfortable stance by intuition. Placing my palms on the wall of his chest as his palms pulled my arse to him, I looked up into his lustful sapphire eyes.

“How are your hands? Better?”

Taking my question as asking for a demonstration, he gently kneaded the ample globes of my arse like a cat, one then the other. Lather, rinse, repeat came to mind but I squelched it in the heat of the moment. “Much better. Thank you.”

“Tell them that I’m in need of those hands and all the glorious things they do.”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth hiking up in mirth. “Would you like me to tell them in great detail all the wicked things I do?”

“It’s all in the approach, Hiddleston. Terms and conditions, and consequences.”

Ignoring the constant spray of water on our skin, the outside world washed away and the universe became the two of us. “Our binding contract. You get yours and I’ll get mine.”

I smiled. “Something like that. Keep the woman behind the man satisfied, keep the actor working.”

Even as I said it, I knew I was implying more than our arrangement suggested. I may have overplayed my turn in our exchange. I couldn’t pressure him in that direction too soon, or he could turn-tail and run. His expression drained from his face, all glee replaced with seriousness. He stared into my eyes, and I wanted to look away, my fear eating away at me. I held my breath and my heart beat quickened, afraid of what he might say or do.

Shifting his hands, he cupped my face between his as my stomach dropped and leaked away with the running water at my feet. “What’s going on here, Abigail?”

The world stopped turning, the clock stopped ticking, and I was struck immobile. I wasn’t sure if he was referring to our morning sexual escapades, as he was still hard and pressed against my belly. The use of my full name and the intensity of his gaze indicated that he meant more, questioning what we had become. I wasn’t sure how to respond, this didn’t feel like the time to have the cathartic verbal explosion of feelings, wants, and visions of the future. Was the bottom out of the tub?

Before I could respond with anything coherent, he swallowed my answer with a bruising, insistent kiss. This was our way of avoiding the question that now hung between us. He picked me up in his arms and wedged me between the cool tiled wall at my back and his heated body. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, pressing him to me. With no more preamble, he entered my body with a mutual moan shared between us. This was our way- saying nothing at all and saying everything at once in our movements.

Ecstasy came all too quickly, I would’ve preferred to stay in his arms for the rest of time. We finished cleaning up and getting through our morning rituals in harmony, both ignoring the proverbial pink elephant in the room. The pink elephant wasn’t unwelcome or unwanted or awkward, just another occupant in our shared space and would probably remain there until we answered that question.

As part of his contract with the BBC and The Hollow Crown, Tom had a hired car pick him up and drop him off before and after shooting. That damned car interrupted out goodbye kiss that tasted of muffins and coffee and the underlying constant of my Tom. As he was leaving, he winked and promised to see me later. Nothing specific as it never was, but a binding pledge.

I floated to work on cloud nine or fifteen, if I went by the voltage of my smile. I was thoroughly encouraged that Tom was coming around and he was beginning to see us as a pair. This feeling was quickly replaced with revulsion when I arrived at the studio for that morning meeting with evil deplorable Dennis. Before entering the building, I rung Henry to be my reinforcement again after work. I wanted to call on him to go into that meeting with me, but I’d have to face my boss alone.

With character of happy-with-my-job-and-adoring-my-boss firmly in place, I signed into the studio and climbed the steps to my fate. Dennis’ door was closed when I arrived. I knocked three times about five minutes early for when he demanded me there.

“Enter,” his voice wafted through the thick wooden door inviting me in. I was surprised to see three other producers, Ian, Delores, and Paul, and two other supporting character actors inside. Feeling equal parts comforted and disturbed that there were others there in the room. Dennis waved me into one of the 2 free chairs in the room as another knock sounded behind me. I settled in between Becca (another one of Dennis untapped conquests) and Ben.

One more part time actor, known only by his one name moniker Shadow, joined us in the room and in the other unoccupied seat. Dennis then took charge of the meeting with another man called Ian. “Good morning everyone. Can we get you coffee, tea, water?” When the four of us declined, he continued, “We’ve called you in for a very specific purpose.”

Ian, in his surprisingly flamboyant high pitched voice, announced suddenly, “In the interest of saving time, I’ll rip the plaster off the wound. We’ve lost one of major investors for the show. In the New Year, we can’t afford to pay you four. This is your two weeks’ notice.”

Clearly this heartless man had never heard of sensitivity. Trying to manage the blow to the actress ego was bad enough, but the added pressure of Dennis’ leer on me and Becca was oppressive. Feeling the panic of being unemployed in a fortnight and utterly appalled at the tactless dismissal, I covered my mouth with my hand wondering what would become of me. Obviously show business wasn’t the most reliable profession, and these instances would happen often, but knowing all that didn’t offer an ounce of warmth or comfort in the cold harsh truth.

With my entire world caving in on me, not to mention the walls, I couldn’t deny that I suspected that Dennis had something to do with this. He appeared far too smug for this to be coincidence. He was executive producer and had ultimate say over how the budget was dispersed. He hated that he hadn’t gotten his clutches into any of the actresses on set.

Dennis spoke authoritatively, “We can offer you a two week compensation as a separation package. You will continue to report to work thru the 31st. We will require you every day of shooting in order to finish up your storylines.”

We were shoved out of the office without an apology or wishes of luck to hair and makeup for shooting for the day. With the four of us, we were going through the motions and calling in our performance before the camera; the comedy of the sitcom unable to reach us beyond our bleak reality. The only solace I sought was that of Tom and his embrace. I didn’t text him, his schedule was too demanding and after his previous day didn’t want to impose on him.

I texted Henry in preparation of my foul mood when I got out of work. He texted back that he would be there to see me out in front of Dennis and with other audition notices in compensation. Luckily, in the producer success in ridding himself of his failures steered clear of me and my other unemployed coworkers for the remainder of the day. I was able to hang off Henry for more consolation than for show.

Stepping out into the winter weather arm in arm, my friend apologized. “Abby, I’m so sorry this happened to you. The timing is terrible and the man is atrocious to search out a reason to get rid of you.”

My fate sat in the pit of my stomach and festered into a raging temper. I was angry at my inability to overcome a powerful authority in the business and dreading that this would be a black cloud over my career for quite some time. “Thanks, Henry. Will you see me home? Make sure I don’t throw myself in the Thames or in front of the tube train.”

He wrapped a protective and warm arm around me and led me in the direction of the tube station. “We’ll find you other work, better work…”

“Is it awful that I’m relieved that I don’t have to see that poor excuse of a man every day?”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”

“But I’m gutted that I don’t have work. I don’t like this unknown.”

He smiled at me apologetically, “You’ve picked the wrong career path, love.”

“Don’t I know it? By the way, in light of recent events, I can splurge on Starbucks as your Christmas present.”

Henry swatted me lightly with the back of his hand against my forearm. “Surely I deserve a spree through Harrods?”

“I can’t even afford to walk through the doors,” I said derisively.

My overgrown friend chaperoned me home with all my limbs dry of river water and all attached to my person. Searching through my bags for my wayward keys, I offered, “Henry, did you want a cuppa? The least I could do…”

A black car pulled to the curb behind us as I tried the next bag. Henry insisted, “Is that all you know how to make?”

Shuffling through clothes and makeup at the bottom of my bag, I giggled, “I barely know how to make that.”

Henry laughed and said, “It’s alright. The overwhelming vote of confidence in your own abilities is astounding.”

Behind him, a terse harsh voice said, “Abigail.”

My heart stopped, my vision went into vertigo as Henry stepped aside. I huffed out in a surprised and resigned tone, “Tom!”


	11. Chapter 11

Poor Henry was stuck in the middle of the tension, thick enough to cut with a knife, between Tom and me. His gaze whipped back and forth between the two of us like a pair of windscreen wipers on a car, caught in a hurricane of emotion. He felt the stress of his presence and immediately announced his departure, “Abby, I really must go…” He paused, struggling to say something more but not wanting to cause anymore difficulties for me with Tom. “I’ll text- see… e” In the end he mumbled something unintelligible, greeted Tom awkwardly with a nod and his name before turning on a dime and tearing away from us like his arse was on fire.

I dropped my bags haphazardly, hari-kari, let them fall where they may, unable to care if something broke, rolled away or was ruined by the snow. The cold bitterness of Tom’s stare tore at me, and I shook with a visual shiver from deep in my gut. The emotional wall he erected was insurmountable and I wanted to weep from his expression. A mask of vacant displeasure slid into place, his mouth in a straight line of pique, his eyes stone cold and nearly silver, all blue nearly gone.

The hem and stitching of the cuff of my overcoat became the center of my attention and fascination as I avoided his stare. I picked at the loose threads, the only way to manage how his expression pained me and how much I wanted to hide under a table, and wait out the storm of emotion to pass. Discouraged and nearly nauseous from it, I pondered the question of how this kept happening with us. With every improvement, every step forward, another disaster struck, throwing us off the path to a true meaningful relationship.

Knowing Tom’s aversion for my spending time with Henry, I’d still encouraged him. The last time he saw me with Henry, Tom had taken me to bed to make me forget the other man. The stress of my poor judgment settled in my shoulder, knots twisting and forming below my neck. Running or shying away from this, like I always did, wasn’t doing me any favors. The pattern of behavior I’d been abiding by wasn’t getting me what I wanted, Tom. I had part of him, but I wanted all of him. I couldn’t keep up the timid mouse routine or running away when the drama got to a breaking point. I couldn’t be afraid that the man would take off with my heart and leave me behind as a shattered shell. I couldn’t allow my fear to rule me anymore. I found my confidence in the face of this epiphany, my head held high, and ready to confront him.

Gathering all the gumption and faith I could muster from within myself, I took a deep breath of sobering December air. I released that lungful in a slow expanding visible puff of air, and as it cleared, I noted that Tom’s expression hadn’t changed. His demeanor was anything but relaxed, his legs planted a kilometer apart, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his shoulders set in a stiff, rigid straight line, a hard stance. “What the hell is going on, Abby?”

Affronted by the accusatory question put me on the defensive right out the gate, but I wouldn’t let that derail me. Centering myself, my voice sounded shallow and guarded to my ears, but even toned. I annunciated my words precisely, “Spending time with a friend.” For his benefit, I emphasized ‘a friend.’

His eyes narrowed enough to keep me on edge. “Are you seeing him?”

“Of course not. Henry is just a friend.” I didn’t want to argue with him, but his attitude worried me. I halted and thought through what I would say next. We were at an impasse, and I needed to get us back on track. “Tom, do you really think that?”

“I don’t know. He spends a lot of time at your flat for someone you claim is just a friend.”

I looked at him closely trying to figure out if he was serious. “Do you need me to deny it again? I’m with you every night.”

Quickly, he asked, “Then answer me this, would you prefer him?”

A lump formed in my throat with the need to exorcise some of the stress I felt. Under the heat of his inquisition, I felt guilty and I hadn’t wronged him. I couldn’t let him see that his questions bothered me, and with how justified Tom believed that he was, tears would incriminate me. “Tom, I spend maybe an hour with him every day. I just…” I trailed off knowing that if I told him that I needed Henry that would enrage him more. I took two steps toward him trying to close the physical distance between us, and trying to repair the emotional divide. “Do you believe I would choose him?”

“The night before last, you said there is something attractive about what he can offer you.” The hollow quality to his timbre stung. “You need to decide what you want, Abby. You can’t have both.”

Carefully, I asked, “Why can’t I? Henry is a friend, and I want to include him in my life. Who are you to tell me who I can and can’t have in my life?” I was sure there was no venom in my voice, a simple question. I stayed silent for a few moments letting the query and all its implications sink in. “Who are you to me?” I held my breath awaiting his reply as I still didn’t know what he considered me to be. This was another one of my defining moments, or at least it felt like it.

Minutes seemed to tick by in weighted silence, and then Tom turned his back to me and went to his hired car. I couldn’t quite fathom this reaction, and I choked back calling to him. Unshed tears blurred my vision as I watched him walk away. I wanted to scream, empty my stomach onto the sidewalk, run away and throw myself at him, clutching at his legs pathetically, all at once. I didn’t do any of those things; I didn’t do anything, struck immobile by my broken heart. His leaving me was my worst fear realized. I was left to wonder how to define what we had meant to each other for the past three months and if we would never to see each other again. I whispered his name into the snow and closed my eyes to the pain, hanging my head.

I listened as the ignition kicked in, engaging the motor, the door open and close, and then the car drive away. Suddenly, Tom’s voice said, “Abby, let’s go inside, out of the cold. You’re shivering.”

A tortured sob escaped my throat, unable to squelch the relief that he didn’t leave me. I knew my troubles were far from over, but I wanted to hold on to that sense of reassurance. In answer, a tremor racked through my being, the cold and his indifference chilling me down to my soul. I longed to be strong but I was rundown with the months of keeping my feelings under the veil of friendship. The kettle was boiling over and I no longer had full control. Tom ignored the slight display of emotion; he was still visibly distant, keeping his emotions in check. He retrieved my scattered belongings off the snow covered ground, finding my keys among the items.

He let us into my flat, flipped on the light switch, and closed the door behind me. “Tell me this one thing, Abby, please. Put my mind at rest. Have you slept with him?”

The physical pain that issue caused hit deep and I gasped with the shock of it. An agonizing lump sat firmly in the center of my throat, threatening to choke me. Tears were the only way to alleviate the pressure, but I wouldn’t allow it. The sob outside was the only discretion I’d awarded myself in the face of these accusations. Tom didn’t trust me but I’d never given him any reason to earn distrust like this.

On top of the doubt, he was questioning my feelings for him. Of course I never said it in so many words, but he didn’t realize how deeply I cared for him.  I was incapable of being with another man, and having him doubt that fact burned. “Would that really help? To hear me say it? Would you trust my answer?”

“Abby, please, I need to know.” His calm incited my resentment and I was more than hurt about the turn in our conversation. How could he be so pacified when I was flirting with hysteria?

Despite my indignation, I said evenly, “I don’t know how many different ways to say it, to make you understand. Henry is nothing more than a friend. He wanted me to go out with him, but I couldn’t go through with it. I’ve done nothing to earn your doubt.”

“Why were you with him again?”

“I needed a friend today.”

“Why?”

My life, everything I treasured was crumbling around me, and I didn’t know how to stop the onslaught of malevolence that seemed to plague me suddenly. I was barely standing on my own two feet with the crushing truth. I’d lost the only job I had with no auditions upcoming, no income, no means to support myself. If Tom’s attitude was any hint of the future of our relationship, I was on the verge of losing him too. On the same day and it was more than I could bear.

“Two weeks from now, I’m unemployed,” I scoffed derisively with all humor absent. “That producer finally found a way to get rid of me after all.”

Did I see a flash of regret cloud his expression in an instant? I couldn’t tell for sure, because the mask of indifference or calm or whatever was back within a blink of an eye. “What happened?”

“My producer’s advances were making me really uncomfortable. I thought having a man around would…  I don’t know, discourage or intimidate him. Henry was playing a part, to prove I wasn’t interested. Telling him wasn’t working, Tom. And I think proving it only irritated him more.”

“Why didn’t you come to me? Let me know it was getting worse?”

I opened my mouth to say something, and then closed it again. I told him my troubles early on, but I never told him that I was still having difficulties. I wanted to keep the ugliness at the studio. I loved the job, but I didn’t like Dennis. I took another deep breath, “I don’t know. I didn’t think you could do anything to fix it. You were never interested or invested in my life.”

“Abby, that’s unfair. How could I know about your obstacles unless you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Until last night, did you ask about mine? I know you’re hurting, understandably so, but this is news to me. All of it.”

“That still doesn’t excuse your need to accuse me of sleeping around on you; persecute me for being some kind of harlot or trollop.”

“Abby, be fair. I didn’t know. You chose to keep this from me and turn to someone else over me.”

I was taken aback slightly by that. Quietly, I asked, “Would you have been there for me?”

“I would like the option to be.”

“I want to believe you, Tom, I do. But you don’t trust me and I don’t know how to make you see about Henry. I don’t want to be coddled like a child. I don’t want to be treated like less than what I am, because you don’t mean it. It doesn’t feel sincere.”

“Are you now dictating how I should feel?” I shook my head, assuming from his stature and his word choice that he felt nothing. “Abby, I understand that you are in a very bad way, but you never told me that you needed me, or that you wanted me to be there for you. I almost think you’ve set me up in a test that I had no hope of passing; I failed before I arrived at the starting line.”

Sure, his attitude from the minute he showed up outside unexpectedly had been less than stellar, but maybe he wasn’t completely at fault. I wasn’t testing him, but I determined without asking that he couldn’t be there for me, that I couldn’t turn to him. My gut reaction from being sacked was to go to Tom, but I jumped to the conclusion that he couldn’t handle that and he was too busy. I was open and there for him when he needed me last night, but I didn’t give him the opportunity to reciprocate.

“Tom, I don’t know why, but I always feel like you’re holding back with me, keeping me at arm’s length. Maybe that’s why I don’t turn to you. I don’t know if you’re going to take me in your arms and make everything better or push me away and make me feel worse. After all these months, I still don’t know my place in your life or if I fit in. There are times that you let your guard down and you let me in. But there are other times you make it clear, I’m nothing more than a woman you have sex with. I’m not sure I can handle that anymore.”

Closing the distance between us in my living room, I cupped his face in my hands, looking up at him with all the hope of us that lived in me. My eyes were full of the tears barely held by the dam of pride. “Tom, tell me why you are so threatened by my friendship with Henry.” The barrier that he placed between us nearly came down in that moment, but he was struggling to keep it firmly in place. His eyes flicked away from mine unable to withstand the intensity.

“Please look at me. Tell me something, anything.” I waited for him to take a deep breath and forced his gaze back on me. “Are you jealous?” I couldn’t keep the hope from the question. Jealousy would imply caring and that’s exactly what I wanted most.

He avoided the question, instead rested his forehead against mine and sighed. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer. He closed his eyes as that barrier fell, just not completely. Resigned, he whispered, “Abby, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to define us. I’m not ready to let go of what we have.”

The proclamation wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for; the statement felt more like a distancing thing, than a declaration of love that I craved. I couldn’t face losing him, I couldn’t. I held him tighter, placed a soft chaste kiss on his lips and insisted vehemently, “Then don’t let go.”

Without another word, he picked me up and carried me to my bedroom. We shed our clothes, and I felt like I was baring my heart and soul to him. With every movement he made in me felt more like goodbye than love. The tears I’d been holding onto all evening spilled onto my cheeks as he found his pleasure and I lost my heart. As I rolled over afterwards, I whispered, “I love you, Tom.” He held me in his arms as I drifted off to sleep, saying nothing.

When I woke again in the morning, he was gone, leaving nothing but traces of his smell on my sheets. Three days later, I stopped expecting his call or return.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of In His Kiss, but it's not the end of Tom and Abby. I hope you'll stick around and read more of their story.

“Abby, should I be concerned? Frankly, I am…  You’ve been withdrawn, pale and not yourself,” Henry raked his eyes over my face. With my elbow propped upon the smooth but somewhat sticky surface of the Starbucks café table, I rested my cheek in my left hand, leaning into it. His voice pulled my unfocused, blurry stare at an invisible spot on the wall behind his shoulder back to him. The chatter and tippy-typing on laptops and netbooks of the other occupants slid back into my consciousness, that dot rendered me incapable of sensing anything else.

Shifting in my seat to an upright position, I offered a small but empty smile in apology to my friend as he handed me the hot venti Caramel Macchiado. “Sorry, Henry,” I volunteered, firmly back amongst the human race.

He lowered his massive physique into the wooden chair across from me that whined and cracked under his gorgeous bulk. His blue eyes blazed into mine demanding explanation, conveying nothing but concern and caring. “Why are you so subdued?”

Picking at the white plastic lid on my coffee cup, I again found myself at a decision point. I was bone-deep tired of running scenarios and emotions through my mind, unable to step off the infinity treadmill of my predicament, my endless stream of consciousness. For the sixth time in the past two hours, I felt a familiar lump of sadness form in the back of my throat and blink away tears furiously at the memory of Tom’s blue, blue eyes and my ignored plea for him not to let go.

Sighing deeply, I pushed the sentiment away, limiting my wallow in a pool of hurt at night alone in my bed. I cried myself to sleep most nights with hot heavy tears of regret for a man who I felt couldn’t love me. It was strange how a break-up effected so much more than your emotions. My voice hadn’t been the same (at least, to me) since that night, constrained, empty. I sounded like a stranger to myself, “I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t.”

“May I hazard a guess?” I nodded encouragingly. “You were involved with Tom, something’s happened and you’re not anymore.”

Staring down at my cup, I huffed out a teeny-tiny scoff of irony. “That’s surprisingly vague and incredibly accurate all at once.”

Henry searched for words of comfort in the early morning crowd at Starbucks. “I cannot begin to define the something…”

“You know, neither can I.” I whispered ironically.

He continued as though I hadn’t interrupted, “He doesn’t deserve you if he hurt you.”

Another deep breath, feeling the oxygen expand my lungs, I shook my head. “As much as I would like point fingers at Tom and accuse him of all wrong-doing, I honestly don’t have the heart to. We hurt each other over and over again, and in the time apart, I’ve gained some prospective. It was a pattern of hurt, betrayal, mistrust and misplaced trust. So I don’t blame him for bailing when he did.” I gave up trying to disguise my hurt and pain streaking down my face in a steady stream of tears. I swiped at the stubborn display of sorrow, the fierce emptiness at Tom’s abandonment very real despite my verbal confession. Through tears, my voice cracked over, “I’m almost relieved he left.”

Henry reached for my hand and squeezed it in comfort. “Yeah, I can tell. Tears always communicate relief to me.”

“You must think him the worst kind of monster, but I assure you he’s not. I know that every time I talk about him with you, I’m crying. When I say relief, that’s not to say I don’t miss him and it doesn’t make me want to die sometimes, but he’s not completely to blame.”

Henry sat up suddenly and smiled a Cheshire. “Oh!” he exclaimed as he dug into his rucksack. With a flourish of pride, he produced a handkerchief from his bag. Handing the small, thin material to me to wipe my running nose and leaking eyes, I laughed.

“The 1800s called and they want their accessory back,” I joked, putting the cloth to good use.

“Leave me be, woman. It was for an audition and a very convenient thing to have for a grieving friend.”

I couldn’t let Tom, in his absence, steal more time from me. Six days ago, he decided to leave, disproving his last statement to me that he wasn’t ready to let go of what we had. He let go and I had to let go as well.

Henry, my constant companion and bodyguard, walked me to work and promised to be there to see me home later. Dennis renewed his creepy attention on the actresses on set, the deadline of our time there counting down. I expected to see him in the doorway when I arrived at the studio begrudgingly. I’d lost my passion for the job in light of my impending departure and the status of my personal life.

The atmosphere in the studio was different than usual, and I could feel it immediately. Dennis was absent, stagehands and camera operators were racing around, the talent were standing around in street clothes, and nobody was concerned with making a sitcom. The drastic change in the motivations unnerved me a bit.

Silently I made my way to hair and wardrobe to see (and hear) what the girls were up to, knowing they’d be able to share the gossip. Emma, Stephanie and Lucy were incapable of being quiet and usually perpetuated rumor and hearsay. I stepped into the brightly lit costume shop to find the girls alone in a heated discussion. Emma, being the loudest of the three, squealed when I joined them, her boundless wells of zeal nearly knocked me over in her excitement to share news with someone new.

“OH MY GOD! Have you heard?! Tell me you haven’t heard!”

“I haven’t heard. What’s going on? The studio is eerily quiet.”

Another squeal sounded from Emma as Stephanie and Lucy nearly vibrated out of their seats. The blond professional hair tamer wrestled me into a chair haphazardly to spill her verbal guts to all ears within a two kilometer radius. “Bullocks!! You’ll love this!!”

“What is it?”

Her hands were flapping at her sides, fit to burst with the excitement of sharing. “Dennis, the skeevy tosser, was made to resign. He was escorted out of here early this morning.”

Utter relief was the weight of the world lifted from my shoulders in the moment of realization. I didn’t have to avoid certain areas or tread lightly anymore, and I felt liberated, almost physically lighter. With a gasp of surprise, I asked airily, “What did he do?”

“We don’t know, but it must be something dodgy with the amount of security that escorted him out.”

It felt so strange to be able to breathe, as the studio had become an oppressive place that I had to visit every day in fear of that man and his advances. The cloud of doom cleared and I breathed out an audible sigh of relief and awe. “What does this mean for the show?”

“We don’t know yet. Delores disappeared into a meeting with the BBC execs and haven’t been seen since.”

“Wow! It all happened so quickly!” My hands fidgeted with nervous energy and with daring hope that I might not be without employment in a week’s time.

“That’s not all! We think Ian’s out too for sure, but we don’t know all the details. There was a frenzy of activity when Delores came out screaming like a banshee for coffee, and we haven’t seen Paul either. It’s all arse over tit.”

Lucy announced to me, “Happy Christmas to you, love! You should feel better. No more Dennis.”

It was Christmas eve, and with every shred of relief I felt for no more evil Dennis, I felt the dread of another holiday alone crawl around my broken heart. That all too familiar flood of cold panic gathered inside of me. I didn’t have family and all my friends (coworker friends) would be off with their families, and Tom was gone.

No sooner than Emma finished squealing, an announcement that sounded like a practiced version of Delores’ voice sounded of the PA system. “In light of some internal reorganization, everyone is dismissed for the day with full pay. Please report back on the 27th of December for a full cast and crew meeting scheduled, call time eight for all personnel. Merry Christmas.”

With a whoop of an excitement, the kinetic energy around the studio turned from whispered gossip to gleeful wishes of good tidings. After giving Emma, Stephanie and Lucy hugs with a promise to see them after Boxing Day, I found a quiet corner to ring Henry. I quickly unloaded all the news to my friend who seemed generally relieved that my plight was over, at the least the immediate one of constant harassment. “Abby, I’m so glad for you. That must be such a relief.”

I smiled, “Thank you! You got me through so much of it.”

He chuckled, “Nonsense. Did you need me to come get you?”

I weaved through the rush of people milling around the studio to my dressing room. Assuming I was still out on the 31st, I needed to take some of my belongings with me. I’d been taking bits and pieces every day in order to not have too much to carry on the last day. “No, thank you though. You’ve been more than generous with your time with me.” I pushed open the door to my dressing room and closed it behind me. “Merry Christmas, Henry. I hope you have a good visit with your family. Let me know when you return.”

After a few more pleasantries and exchanges of holiday cheer, we rung off. I put my empty bags on the dressing room table with my phone, to take stock in what was left.

“Abigail.”

Startled, I whipped around to scan the room for the source of the intruder. The shock of seeing him and the sudden rush of flutters in my stomach nearly knocked me over. I gasped loudly, one arm flew around my middle where the butterflies were and one hand over my accelerated heartbeat. “Tom!”

“I had to see you.” His voice was soft and reserved. Everything about him was different. He stood with his feet close together with most of his weight on one leg with his other bent, his hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, his thoroughly missed blue eyes round with…  regret? He was clean-shaven and his hair was more blond than red, appearing younger, but I could see the worry lines in his forehead and framing his mouth.

I concentrated on breathing and lowering my rapidly beating heart to normal. His proximity affected my nervous system more than the unexpected shock. “What are you doing here?”

He looked down at the carpet before meeting my eyes again, “I’ve missed you powerfully.”

The tears arrived before I could stop them. He had never said that to me before. His word choice previously was very specific to keep me at arm’s length. This was personal, this was for me. I shook my head, denying him. “I can’t believe that.”

“Abby, please… I know I’ve hurt you terribly and I hoped you might let me apologize.”

“Why should I?”

“You probably shouldn’t with all I put you through, but I want to be the man you thought I was, the one that earned what you last said to me.”

_I love you, Tom_

“You left me!”

Keeping his head bowed with surprising modesty and remorse, he stole another glance at me before speaking to his feet, “I regret it every minute and you did nothing to deserve that treatment.”

“It’s been almost a week!” The betrayal burned. I shared my heart, he said nothing and took off. Perhaps I expected too much for him to return the statement, but to walk away may have been beyond forgiveness.

“I didn’t handle anything with you the way I should. I knew you would be angry, justifiably so, and I don’t know how to make it right.” He stopped himself short, combed his fingers through his hair, and took a hesitant step towards me. “I’m so sorry.” I remained silent, waiting for an explanation.

“Abby, from the moment you tripped into my life, I’ve been so taken with you.” On the first day of rehearsals, I was so nervous about meeting a celebrity, my feet wouldn’t stay beneath me and I fell into him. His other work commitments had made him unavailable until that first table read through.

“The way you blushed that first time we met, I’ll never forget it. You were so lovely and endearing, and then you ran away.” He laughed a little at the memory of it. “I think you spent most of a fortnight, running away from me and I was charmed by it. I wanted to get you out of my system, because I desired you so much. You were a distraction, an adorable one, but a distraction none the less.

“I seduced you for all the wrong reasons, but I’ll never regret that I did.” He took another step towards me, mindful of my penchant for running away. “You’ve become so dear to me. Your tongue-in-cheek sense of humor, your enthusiasm, even your flightiness. Your tenacity. Your impatient nature drives me crazy, but incredibly sweet when directed my way. I’ve missed you in my kitchen creating chaos. I miss finding books with the pages bent down as a place holder. I miss your nest of blankets on my sofa, the cocoon that makes you feel safe.” I shrugged through my stream of tears, overwhelmed by his expression of what he liked about me. His eyes filled with tears of honesty, something he never allowed me to see before.

With his face full of understanding, Tom took another step towards me. “What I’m trying to say, Abby, is that I’m crazy in love with you, and I have been from the beginning. I was a tit for leaving you and I don’t have a good reason for it.”

“Why did you?” I asked quietly.

He took the last step that separated us and ran his hand over my hair like he always did. With his thumbs, he padded the wet tracks of my tears affectionately. “Because you terrify me. I care for you so much that it scares me. You are so passionate and fiercely affectionate. I fear that I’ll disappoint you in some way.”

With a huge gulp of air, I contested, “You disappointed me last week.”

“I’m so sorry for that. If you’ll forgive me, I’ll strive to make it right.” One tear escaped down his cheek.

“Do you trust me?”

“Implicitly.” I gave him a sideways dubious look. “Ah, the Henry thing?” I nodded. “You’ve been telling me for a long time that you care for me, not verbally, but in other ways. I was afraid that he could come between us, because you were so open with him. I was jealous because you have a bond with him, and I thought that would lessen our connection. I know it’s silly and I had no basis to feel that way except that I thought I was losing you to him.”

Abruptly the truth hit me and I pointed at him, “You did this! The Dennis thing! You did this!”

He smiled widely. “I had Luke do some digging. He didn’t have to dig far. That deplorable excuse for a human being was threatening my girl and I couldn’t have that. Luke’s also scheduled some appearances for you in the New Year that could lead to some auditions.” He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to me. “Of course if you want to do it on your own, I understand.”

“Thank you! For all of it.” I indicated to the studio at large.

With a penitent tone, he professed, “In the interest of full disclosure and fresh starts, I was under some really ugly assumptions about you, Abby, and I’m not sure why. I got it into my head that you were with me for the attention or career advancement. I don’t know… using me, I guess. I never recognized how much you sacrificed to keep us quiet.”

“I would never!”

“I do know that. Your behavior never indicated you were using me… but I think it was my self-defense mechanism - to keep you from getting too close.”

“I don’t want the attention, I only ever wanted you. I didn’t give up chasing down my career while I was with you.”

He ran his hand over my hair again. “I know… I’m not proud of it, but I thought you should know why I kept you at a distance. I don’t want that anymore, it’s made me a very ugly version of myself.”

That was the moment I saw in his eyes true contrition and remorse. The last of the emotional wall of denial between us that he had constructed of outrageous theories fell completely.

I sighed, encouraged by his confessions. He was finally letting me in, completely, no holds barred. He said softly, “If you’ll have me…”

He faltered and I continued, “I should’ve told you sooner about what was going on here. I was stubborn and assumed because the distance thing that you couldn’t or wouldn’t help me when I needed it most. I’m almost okay that you left when you did.” His face fell. “Don’t misunderstand me. I didn’t want you to leave, but I gained some me back. So much of me has been wrapped up in you.”

“I’m so sorry about all I’ve put you through. I think my sins far outweigh yours. Abby, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want me anymore. Or if you can’t forgive me…”

“Hiddleston, I like these declarations and truths, but will you kiss me already?”

He cupped my face between his hands with a smile. “I’m crazy in love with you.” Before I could answer, he claimed my lips with his in a chaste kiss.

On the way back to his flat, we took a stroll through the holiday spirit alive and thriving in Leicester Square. He took my hand in his, a display to prove he was committed to us as a couple and he wasn’t ashamed to be seen with me. It vanquished and eliminated my worry that I was his dirty little secret.

When we arrived back at his flat, Tom stripped bare both emotionally and physically in his bedroom, leaving me fully clothed. He wanted to appear vulnerable and unguarded for me. Facing me, he sat on his side of the bed, I stood in my bare feet between his legs. A quiet exploration of his assailable enchantment of me, and me for him. It wasn’t a sexual act, rather a silent, poignant, sensitive exposure of his feelings for me, one he was embracing with every conviction he had.

I caressed his face, held his gaze for a long time revitalizing our comfort level with one another. Finally, he reached up to bring my lips to his.

The saying was true, to determine if a man really loves, it’s in his kiss.

My Tom loved me and I discovered it that night in his kiss.

 


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **In His Kiss - Epilogue**

“Abby, love, time to wake up,” my human alarm clock whispered into the crown of my head. I mumbled incoherently, snuggling closer into his naked chest, reluctant to leave the refuge of his arms or his bedroom. With the slow, steady thump of his heart as my pillow, I could easily drift back off to sleep. The tiny shift of my body against his I managed to get closer. I felt a small press of his lips upon the crown of my head before prodding me again. “Abby, wake up.”

Without opening my eyes to the cruel light of day and reality, I contested softly, “No.”

A rumbling chuckle rolled through his chest, the vibrating sensation was incredibly arousing, not only from sleep but other places as well. I purred into his skin and slid my hand from around his waist to the center of his chest. Tom wrapped his hand around mine and brought it to his lips to brush a kiss against my palm. Quietly, he reminded me, “Time to get up.”

Grumbling with the distaste of waking completely, I rolled over away from him and burrowed into a fluffy white pillow. Before I could deny him again, he lined his body to mine, his warm skin encompassing mine. Deliciously, he was proudly sporting a fantastic morning erection that he tucked along my backside. I wiggled against him teasingly as he pulled me deeper into the contact.

My blood surged and raced, awakening every nerve-ending to full awareness of my lover. Desire ensnared me in her wicked web of lust and yearning before I opened my eyes to morning light. “I’ve changed my mind. I can be awake.”

Growling, he nuzzled my neck and placed a small nibble along my collarbone, his voice muffled by my hair. “Clever minx. We haven’t the time. But it is Friday!”

I smiled and burrowed further into his embrace and his cock. Fridays were my favorite days aside from Sundays. Fridays were our designated date night, no matter where in the world he was, or what project I was involved, we spent at least an hour together. When Tom was home, we always went to the cinema for the most recent releases. “I like Fridays. Are you taking me to the newest 007?”

“If that’s what you’d like. It’ll be an excellent bonding experience,” he joked.

“Comedians are the biggest joke going,” I giggled as I wiggled until I was on my back and pulled Tom on top of me. Urging him to me, I kissed him fully, opening like a dawn of a new day. Against his better judgment, he gave into me and my demands on his affection. Sliding his hand down my ribcage, he followed the silhouette of my body as far as his fingertips would allow, stopping along my thigh. Grasping the soft flesh, he led my right leg over his hip, his tongue plunging into my mouth. He nestled his length along my moist center and angled his hips into mine, and pressed. He didn’t enter me, only added pressure against my sex.

I moaned into his mouth, the pressure focused on the very spot I needed friction. I grasped at his back desperately and tried to move my hips to seek more. The manipulation increased to a maddening peak of frustration with every press of his cock against my pleasure pearl. He grunted into my tongue with every swipe of his pelvis into mine.

I whined in the back of my throat and pulled away from his kiss. “T-Tom,” His eyes were clouded with longing that must’ve matched my own. “Please… Oh God… please… f-f-fuck me… ugh…” He pressed against me with a rotation of his hip and I bowed with another groan. “N-n-need you.”

Evidence of my arousal coated his length, ready to accept him into my body. He breathed out with a low sound in his throat with barely contained restraint. “No. Time.”

“Fucking tease…”

Tom laughed at my jest in the heat of the moment. Abruptly, he halted his sensual maneuvers against my center and I pouted in protest. He bit my lower lip pushed forward in my sulking display. “If you want to make love before work, we have to multitask, Abby.”

“Terms?”

“Let me go turn on the kettle while you get in the shower, and I’ll join you there as long as you promise not to finish without me.”

I pretended to think about it. “I might lose the mood.”

“You little imp.” He slid his hand down the smooth plane of my abdomen and flicked his fingers over my slit. My waist bucked into the touch, seeking more. His voice dipped very low when he intimated, “I’ll get it back.” He winked at me lasciviously and drank in a moan from me with his lips.

We untangled with the lustful promise forefront in our minds. Toeing over the tiles, I climbed into the large glass enclosure of his shower. When I turned on the tap, I squealed and hissed as the spray started at a much lower temperature than I was expecting.

He returned and stepped into the water with me. I leaned against the back wall, my hips thrust forward to him. I pulled him to me with my hands on his hips. I moaned and bit my lower lip to alert him I was still demanding attention. Within a blink of an eye, he had both of my hands pinned above my head in his. “Abby…”

I shimmied my sex against him, begging him to take me. “Fuck me.”

Swiftly, he slammed his hips into me, his cock filling me. I breathed out a loud, “Ah!” at the shock of his brutal thrust, craving more of the gratifying abuse. He released my wrists and lifted me up against the back tiled wall by my thighs.. His pistoning thrusts were raw and primal, our vocalizations took on a conversation all their own. I moaned, he grunted, I sighed, he cursed. I leaned into his chest, wrapped my legs around him again, and surrendered to the crush of his body.

His mouth devoured mine, his tongue finding a warm wet heaven inside mine. His tongue lapped at mine, mimicking the drive of his cock within me. With fistfuls of his hair, I poured my passion, my lust and my love for him into every slide along him. My breasts caressed along his chest and my heels dug into his firm rear.

When my walls rippled and threatened to find release, I tore my mouth from the fuse with his. My head lulled back and I breathlessly wailed, “Tom, I’m coming, oh fuck, I’m coming!”

Tom demanded, his voice laden with sex and exertion, “Come for me.”

My entire body stiffened and then came apart with a quaking tremble and a loud sigh of his name. He tumbled over into orgasm with a five more erratic and shallow pushes into me. I sunk onto his cock to the hilt as he emptied into me, claiming him.

Tender, affectionate kisses followed, contrasting the activity of a few minutes before. In between, I murmured, “I love you” over and over again. The light stubble on his chin and jawline scraped my fingertips as I caressed his face. I unwound my limbs from around him and he slipped from within me. I combed my fingers through his newly dyed dark hair, tall curls on top but a very short cut. “I’m trying to get used to this look, babe.”

“The hairdresser for the movie star had a brush with fame,” he teased me.

Rolling my eyes, I turned it back on him, “Seven days without puns makes one weak, Mr Ego.”

He smiled and handed me my bottle of shampoo. “Short on time. I have to get you to rehearsal within the hour.”

“Psh, I don’t understand why I have to go and you don’t.” I squirted the peach shampoo into my palm and lathered it through my hair.

Tom soaped up the loofah and scrubbed my arms. He half-shrugged with a half-smile, his expression giving half of nothing away. “Director needs you, love. Not me. I’ll be in later.”

“Who am I going to flirt with until you get there?” I dunked my head back into the steady stream of warm water. Tom lifted my breasts in his palms and pinched my nipples possessively. I gasped in surprise before dissolving into giggles. “Alright… alright… what are you going to do for three hours without me?”

“I have some things to take care of.”

With conditioner massaged into my scalp, Tom continued to clean the rest of me. “How very specific of you. But no flirting. If I’m not allowed to flirt, neither are you.”

“Deal.”

“Hiddleston, you are incapable of being not charming.”

For the first time, in our two years together, Tom and I were working together again. After my BBC debacle, I concentrated my career towards live theatre. With Tom’s generosity, his publicist, Luke, scheduled a few choice appearances for me, in order to circulate my resume and headshot. Right place, right time kept me employed as close to as steady that I felt comfortable.

After his run in Coriolanus at the Donmar Warehouse, Tom looked for at least one theatre engagement on top of his movie career. For the most part, Luke kept my public presence in Tom’s life to a minimum. Manipulating camera angles at public events, sneaking me into premieres through the backdoor, and we attempted to keep a low profile.

*********

Rehearsal spaces were always special to me. The sparks of human creativity and performance began in these rooms. The worn wooden floors with the all the scuffs had felt the stomp of ballet dancers, tap dancers and jazz dancers. The four mirrored walls had seen tears, laughter, and hours of emoting. The memories of the space still alive and well beyond the scars of the previous inhabitants.

I was running an emotional monologue with the director when the rest of the cast arrived. I’d spent the last three hours discussing and analyzing my character with him. He was a very intuitive man, in tune with nuances and specifics. He wanted the audience thoroughly ensconces in her complicated and sordid past. I was emotionally drained and fulfilled by the work.

He granted me a quick break before starting the second half of rehearsal. Wearing that leather jacket that I loved seeing him in, Tom brought me my favorite bottle of Oasis, Citrus Punch and offered a supportive hug. We loved working together, and liberating that we didn’t have hide like the first time we’d been cast opposite one another, when we met.

With his arm slung around my shoulders, he asked, “Still up for Friday night?”

“I’d like every night to be Friday night.” I leaned up and kissed him briefly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He helpfully suggested, “We can always curl up on the sofa and watch an action film.”

“A submarine movie,” I tossed his way.

“Those always go down well.” We smiled together. “Nice set-up, my love.” He shuffled me so he was wrapped around me from behind and turned us towards the mirror to our right. His blue gaze met mine in our reflection in front of us. “Do you remember?”

I placed my hands over his and interlaced fingers with him. “How could I forget? That’s our history, our beginning.”

He kissed my ear sweetly. “You don’t blush anymore.”

“I also don’t run away anymore.”

The entire world fell away as we stood there, reminiscing silently, staring into each other’s eyes in the mirror. Tom pulled his hand from mine and dug something from his pocket. I watched the movements in the mirror. Before my brain caught up with what was happening, I saw a flash of black in his hand and I looked down at it before me. There, in a small black box, was a diamond ring. I took a sharp intake of breath with my hand over my mouth, tears filled my eyes.

As I turned around to look at him, he sunk down to one knee. With a hopeful look, eyes wide, eyebrows raised, Tom said, emotion thick in his voice, “Abigail, I love you more than I ever thought possible. Every day, I fall deeper and deeper under your spell. You’re so impetuous, so impulsive, so precious, so dear to me and I adore every inch of you. I’d be honored if you made every night Friday night by agreeing to be my wife.” He took a shaky deep breath to steady his nerves, his anxiety clear. “Abby, will you marry me?”

I didn’t know when the sobs started, but I could barely see through the happiness streaming down my face. I suddenly realized that he must’ve planned this because we were alone in the room in the middle of rehearsal. The only sound echoing around the mirrored walls were coming from me, sobs of elation and utter delight. Nodding enthusiastically, I exclaimed without a moment’s hesitation, “Yes!”

Tom’s face broke over an overly wide smile, all white teeth and a peek of pink tongue. He stood to his full height and pulled me into his arms. “Yes?”

I threw myself around him and laughed-cried, “Yes! Very much, forever and always, yes!”

He picked me up and spun me around in his arms. “I love you so much, Abby.”

I couldn’t stop returning the sentiment, repeating it like a mantra. He placed me back on my feet, separated from me just enough to slide the ring on my left hand. I couldn’t stop the tears, the huge happiness beyond belief for me. He pulled me back into his arms.

And I found my forever in his kiss.

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